


Lone Wolf

by LightningFlash



Category: Jane and the Dragon
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Other, Road Trips, Supernatural Elements, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-06-12 22:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 38,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15350112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningFlash/pseuds/LightningFlash
Summary: Gunther has always been a loner, but when a quest goes horribly wrong he begins to realise that some challenges can only be overcome with the help of a friend. Will Jane be that friend in his time of need?





	1. Quests and Concequences

**Author's Note:**

> Jane and the Dragon belongs to Martin Baynton, Weta and Nelvana  
> The first few chapters of this fic were beta'ed by Kriseleven  
> The amazing artwork is by keylimecliche on tumblr

Lone Wolf

“A werewolf?” scoffed Gunther. “Surely you don’t believe the tales of a few scared peasants?”

He, Jane, and Sir Theodore stood in the castle yard, the hot summer sun pressing down on the sweating squires as they talked to their mentor.

Jane shot him a glare. “Something has been killing their children, and digging up their dead! They have good reason to be scared.”

“Indeed,” agreed Sir Theodore. “And they have petitioned King Caradock for help. He has agreed to send one knight back to their village, to deal with the situation as they see fit.”

Jane stepped forward, and Gunther rolled his eyes. 

“Dragon and I can be there and back by tomorrow, Sir, and it would be an honour to protect the –“

“I’m sure it would be, Jane,” Sir Theodore stopped her with a wave of his hand. “But Sir Ivon and I have discussed the matter, and feel that this is a challenge that Gunther should undertake.”

Both squires gaped.

“P-pardon, Sir?” stammered Gunther. “You wish for _me_ to . . . ?”

“Is there a problem, Gunther?”

“No, Sir, but I thought the King promised a knight. I am still a mere squire.” Gunther didn’t seem to enjoy pointing out this last fact.

“You are a man grown, almost eighteen.” Sir Theodore gazed at him sternly for a moment, before continuing. “Complete this task successfully, learn from it, and you will be knighted after your return.”

There was a half-stifled gasp from Jane, who looked shocked.

Gunther beamed. “When do I set out?”

“If you leave today you should arrive before the next full moon.”

\---

“I did my best, but one silver arrow is all I could manage,” Smithy held the reins of Gunther’s horse and handed him the weapon. “I made it myself, it’s solid silver. It should pack a punch, if you are close enough, but be sure to aim for the heart.”

“Do not tell me you believe in all this werewolf nonsense too, Smithy.” Gunther raised his eyebrow at the arrow, before tucking it into his belt. Necessary or not, it was too valuable to loose.

“Pig and I saw some strange things during the time we were wandering around, before we came here.” The blacksmith shrugged. “I know you have good aim, but take care, all the same.”

He handed Gunther the reins, and stood aside as the horse trotted off, towards the villager waiting at the castle gates. Turning around, he saw Jane watching from her tower. She quickly ducked back inside.

\---

“A biscuit for your thoughts?”

Jane looked up to see Jester, elaborately holding out one of Pepper’s creations, in front of her. She was sitting on one of the swings, and had been deep in thought. 

“Thank you.” She smiled and accepted the biscuit, and Jester sat beside her. 

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Jane sighed. “I was just wondering why Sir Theodore would knight Gunther, and not me.”

“He said that?”

“He said that if Gunther is successful, and learns something from his task, he will be knighted when he returns.”

“Ah, well, not a worry, then. No way will Gunther face up to a _werewolf_.” Jester laughed. “Even normal wolves scare him.”

Jane sighed. “I wish I could believe that, but we both know that Gunther’s aim is almost faultless, much better than mine, these days. If anyone can pierce a werewolf through the heart with a single arrow, he can.”

Jester began to protest, but Jane cut him off. “ _And_ he is strong. I just thought there was more to being a knight than that.”

“You know, Jane, the likelihood of there actually being a werewolf seems pretty small to me, and the chance of Gunther actually learning something seems even smaller!”

“But a knight is supposed to have . . . morals! And honesty, and chivalry, and strength of character, and, and . . . .”

“Jealousy?” supplied Jester.

Jane blinked, and then gave him a sheepish smile. “I suppose I am,” she admitted. “I just had hoped . . . .” She sighed. “Never mind. I will be a knight one day, and so help Gunther if he tries to tease me in the meantime!”

“That is the spirit.” Jester stood up. “Now pardon me, milady, but I promised the Queen I’d perform for the royal progeny.” He bowed, tinkled his hat at her, and danced off. 

Jane watched him go. “Thank you, Jester.”

\---

Gunther returned three weeks later, thundering through the castle gates without so much as a glance towards Sir Ivon, who was on duty there. He rode up the castle steps and straight into the great hall, where the King sat, preparing for the morning audience with the villagers, and where Jane stood guarding him.

Jumping from the horse, Gunther heaved a large, furry heap down with him, dropped it at the floor in front of the throne, and then kneeled before the King.

“Your werewolf, your Highness.” He stood again, and it seemed to Jane that he had grown.

His horse, feverish with fear and finally free of its terrifying burden, bolted back out the wide doors and into the garden, where Smithy caught it.

The King blanched, and Jane turned her attention to the werewolf. It was hard to look at. If she stared at it, it looked like a large wolf, but in the corner of her eye she might see a human hand. Then if she focused on that, it would become wolfish, and what she had just looked at would turn human in the edge of her vision. One certain thing, though, was the shaft of sliver protruding from its chest. That and the smell.

“I got it mid-turn,” Gunther was saying. “That was the only time she was distracted enough.”

“She?” asked the King. “It was a woman?”

“Yes,” replied Gunther, shortly.

“Uh, very good. Very well done. I am sure the villagers were most grateful.” The King ignored Gunther’s grunt at this last statement, and continued. “Now if you would just take it away and find somewhere to bury it, I would be most grateful.” He paused. “Uh, it will not come back to life, will it?”

“No, Sire, the beast is well and truly dead.” Sir Theodore entered from the far end of the hall. “Well done,” he said to Gunther. “And what did you learn?”

Gunther picked up the corpse as though it weighed nothing at all, as though it was nothing at all, and turned to go.

“Do not trust a woman.”


	2. Discussions and Decisions

“Oh, what is that vile stench?” Jester held his nose. “Rake, have you been playing in the dung again?”

“Now, now, Jester,” said Pepper, placing the evening meal on the table. “That is the smell of a conquering hero.” She nodded in the direction of Gunther, who was leaning against the wall just inside of the archway and tearing into a leg of chicken. She lowered her voice to add; “He spent this afternoon burying that, that _thing_ , and has not even changed his clothes!”

Everyone seated at the table shuddered, including Jane. That thing had _stunk_.

“He must have ridden his horse hard all the way back,” said Smithy, softly. “It took ages to calm her and clean her down, and she has slept ever since. It is strange; he has always treated his horse well.”

“Is it just me, or is he scarier?”

All eyes turned to Rake, who blushed. “Well _I_ thought so.”

“I can tell you one thing that has not changed,” muttered Jester. “His attitude. Look at him over there, glaring at us.”

“I am sure he is just tired. He probably had a very difficult time . . . .” said Pepper, hesitantly.

Jane was barely listening. At Jester’s remark, Gunther had pushed away from the wall, almost as though he had heard. He stood there, fists clenched, for a moment, before spinning on his heel and walking into the training yard.

“Evening, all.”

Dragon’s loud greeting broke Jane from her observation as he landed on the wall.

“Can I smell wolves?”

\---

The next few days passed uneventfully, and life in the castle plodded calmly along. Jane heard no mention of Gunther’s knighthood, despite the unusual vigour with which he attacked his training. He left the practice dummy battered and groaning on its springs, and Jane was almost grateful he’d decided not to spar with her.

She gave the dummy an experimental poke with her wooden sword, and, when it failed to bounce back up, decided to practice archery, instead.

“Smithy? I think Sir Dummy is in need of some assistance.” She called to the blacksmith, who grinned at her.

“I noticed he was getting a beating earlier.” Smithy shook his head in mock defeat. “He should know better than to pick fights with you two.”

Jane laughed, and went to fetch her bow and arrow.

\---

Gunther was leaning over the wall, gazing out into the harbour, deep in thought.

Jane, walking to her tower, stopped when she saw him, and he nodded at her briefly.

“Uh, Gunther,” began Jane, hesitantly. “Are you alright?”

He frowned at the question. “Fine. Why do you ask?”

“No reason, I suppose.” Jane turned to go, but Gunther stopped her.

“Thank you, anyway,” he said with a brief smile, and then straightened up. “I am going for a walk, I may be back late.”

Jane nodded, and then entered her tower. Gunther waited until the door was closed, and then jumped over the wall.

\---

“Very, uh, _nice_ cave you have here, Dragon.”

Dragon turned from the rune-covered wall he’d been studying, and frowned at his visitor.

“What do you want, shortlife?” he growled. He wasn’t sure what to think of Gunther, who was confusingly likeable and detestable at the same time.

“I was hoping to ask a favour, actually.” Gunther stepped into the cave.

“Oh, well, life is full of disappointment,” retorted Dragon.

Gunther continued, ignoring him. “I need to spend tomorrow night here. Preferably in a deep cavern, without, heh, a leaky roof . . . .” He trailed off under Dragon’s glare.

“Gotten into a spot of trouble, have we?”

“No! I just thought it would be very good training. Toughen me up for life on the trail that sort of—“

“I have a very large nose, shortlife,” Dragon rumbled, darkly.

Gunther, whose current view of the world contained nothing _but_ said nose, nodded. “I had noticed that.”

“It’s a very sensitive nose. It notices things that most shortlives cannot. The scent of wolf, for example, on a boy who should not smell of wolf.”

Gunther sighed, and sagged visibly. “Please do not tell anyone?”

“I have not told Jane yet, but I do not like keeping things from her.”

“They will kill me if they find out!” Gunther yelled, clenching his fists and straightening up. “I can sort it all out, I just need some time. I have everything under control.”

“Which is why you plan to hide in a cave during full moon?” Dragon smirked.

“Yes! No! Exactly!” Gunther grit his teeth, and took a few steadying breaths. “If I stay in the cave, it can not get to me. I am not _letting_ it get to me!”

Dragon smirked. “Why not?”

Gunther looked shocked. “Because it wants to kill people, _eat_ people! How can I let it do that? I have sworn on the knights’ code of honour to protect the people, not eat them.”

“At the cost of your own life, was it not?”

The squire sighed again. “If it comes to that . . . yes. But I will try my hardest to find a cure, first. I just need to find a wizard.”

“The king has a wizard,” Dragon pointed out.

“Yes, and he is loyal to His Majesty, I cannot trust him not to tell. No, I shall wait out this full moon, and then I shall go on a quest. And I vow not to return, nor to accept knighthood until I am cured!”

The oath echoed around the cave, before dying away. Gunther lowered his raised fist a little sheepishly, but defiantly. Dragon simply shook his head.

_I don't understand these shortlives . . . ._

\---

“A quest?” asked the King, intrigued.

“Yes, Sire,” confirmed Gunther, once again kneeling on the floor before him.

“Whatever for?”

“A cure, my liege. For werewolves.” He heard a few quiet gasps, and was aware of Sir Theodore’s intense stare from the corner of his vision, but remained focused on the King. 

The King looked nonplussed. “Why would you want to do anything for those evil creatures? You yourself saw what terror they cause.”

Gunther briefly closed his eyes; this was the crucial bit. He looked up and caught the King’s gaze in his own steady one. “Werewolves are evil, Sire, and I wish to do nothing for them. But the people they use are not; they are victims just as much as anyone the werewolf kills. Perhaps more so, as they are the ones who must live with it. I have sworn to protect the innocent, but how can I? A cure would be a far kinder weapon than a silver arrow.”

The Great Hall settled into silence as the king thought, and Gunther once again closed his eyes. If there was one thing his father had taught him, it was how to sell something. If this didn’t work, Gunther was all too aware of the other option, and he was not willing to fall on his own sword just yet.

He had resisted the beast, shut away in a dark cavern by a huge boulder, away from the moonlight. And it had _hurt_ , more than any pain Gunther had known, as though his entire body wanted to turn inside out. But he had resisted, hadn’t forced his way into the night, and hadn’t let himself turn. But that was only his first full moon, and every day he could feel the wolf inside him grow stronger, storing up its power and rage for next time. He couldn’t let it get out.

“Sir Theodore, I wish to discuss this with you.” 

The King’s voice broke through Gunther’s thoughts, and he stood.

Everyone else in the hall was dismissed, and Gunther stepped out into the warm sunlight to sit on the stone steps.

He heard footsteps, and turned to watch as Jane walked towards him. She stopped a small distance away and said nothing, so Gunther turned away and stretched out in the sunshine. 

It was a beautiful day, and the stones were warm against his back. He felt almost as though he had been wrapped in a warm, soft cocoon, like a baby in a woolen blanket, and sleep was calling him.

_A sudden intake of air; she is preparing to speak. Noises from the village; carts, horses, people, too many others to name. Hounds in the yard. A bitch is in heat, and they are all restless. Scent of dragon on the wind, and human nearby. Strong, but not strong enough. Young, tender flesh, smells good . . . ._

“That was a . . . _nice_ thing to request, Gunther.”

Gunther jumped up and grabbed the wall beside him. It had almost had him. Middle of the day and it almost got him! It was lurking, waiting, _grasping_ at the corners of his mind, and that was terrifying to know.

Everything had been heightened since . . . since the bite, but never to that extent. It was getting stronger.

“Gunther?”

The corner of the stone he’d been gripping crumbled slightly, and Gunther quickly released it. He turned to Jane, and tried to keep his voice steady.

“Surprised?”

“Not so much surprised as confused,” she admitted slowly. “It seemed as though you hated the one you brought back.”

“For her it was a power thing. All that strength was worth the occasional uncontrollable murderous rampage.”

Jane grimaced slightly. “What makes you so sure it is not like that for all the others?”

Gunther smiled weakly. “Gut instinct.”

Any further questions Jane may have had were cut off by the arrival of Sir Theodore, and Gunther was grateful.

At least now he’d find out if he got to do this the hard way, or the harder way.

\---

“King Caradoc has agreed that you should go on this quest,” began Sir Theodore. “However,” he continued, before Gunther could so much as heave a sigh of relief, “There are conditions.”

 _Conditions. Damn._ But Gunther would agree to anything, so long as he could go.

“Jane is to accompany you.”

Anything but that. 

“Jane? But . . . it could be dangerous! Or pointless! There is really no sense in wasting two knights when one will do, and Dragon would never agree to let me travel with him and—“

“Dragon will stay here,” Sir Theodore cut him off sternly.

Jane, who had been glaring at Gunther, gasped. “But Sir Theodore, why? He will never agree to it!”

“Because the castle needs protecting, and this is a task where one needs to keep close to the ground to notice things. It may be, as Gunther says, dangerous, pointless, or both. It will serve as good training for you both.” He gazed at the two of them, daring them to argue.

Jane nodded reluctantly. “Yes, Sir. I shall try to convince Dragon.”

“Very good,” said Sir Theodore, and shifted his attention to Gunther.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Indeed.” The old knight paused and studied Gunther for a moment before continuing. “I believe I promised you a knighthood . . . .”

Gunther took a deep breath. _I’m going to regret this._ “With all respect, Sir, I would like to finish this quest first.”

Jane gasped, and even Sir Theodore looked shocked. 

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, Sir. I made a promise, and I would like to see it through.”

“I cannot say that I understand your decision, Gunther, but I will respect it. I hope your journey is a fruitful one.”

\---

Gunther stood outside the tower, a cloth-wrapped bundle held gingerly in one hand. The shutters of the window were open, permitting entry to the gentle breeze which cooled the hot summer night. He could just make out Jane as she slept, covers tossed aside and one arm hanging off the bed. She sighed in her sleep and rolled over, and Gunther stepped quickly out of sight. 

He waited until her breathing had evened out again, before placing the bundle on the windowsill and stepping back a few paces. 

“Sorry, Jane,” he said softly. “But I just cannot risk it.”

Then, after a final glance around, he spun on his heel and sprinted away from the tower, the castle, and the village.


	3. Anger and Arrows

Jane marched down the mountain, fists clenched at her side. It was a beautiful day, and she would have been enjoying the walk were it not for her mood. She had risen before everyone but Pepper that morning and set off up the mountain, to talk to Dragon.

Jane growled to herself as she remembered how that conversation had gone. Dragon had been even less reasonable than usual, and when she had refused to turn down the mission, he had exploded. When empty threats and yelling had failed, the big lizard had started sulking, and refused to talk to her. Jane had eventually given up and turned to go, at which point he seemed to change his mind, and tried to talk her out of it again, but Jane, her patience sorely tried, had refused to listen.

“Not even my mother is that ridiculous,” seethed Jane. “He must realise there will be duties that he cannot perform with me.”

Sighing and unclenching her fists, Jane turned her mind towards the quest that Gunther had suggested. She was still baffled as to _why_ he had, but she would do her best to make it successful. 

_What time are we supposed to leave?_ Jane glanced up at the sky. It was still quite early in the morning, but Gunther would probably want to leave before the heat of the day set in. She began jogging in case she was keeping him waiting. The last thing she needed was to start this trip on a sour note.

\---

“Jane, there you are!” Jester ran towards Jane as she entered the castle yard, slightly out of breath. “I thought you had left with Gunther, but Pepper said you were in the kitchen this morning . . . .” He looked relieved to see her.

“Left with Gunther?” asked Jane, puzzled. “Has he gone already?”

“No one has seen him since last night, and Sir Theodore is fuming,” Jester paused before continuing. “It looks like he wanted to take this quest alone.”

“He _what?_ ” Jane spun on her heel and began running towards her tower. “Have Smithy ready a horse for me, I shall ride until I catch him up!”

“That is the other thing,” began Jester, but Jane was out of hearing. He sighed and turned for the stables.

\---

In her room, Jane grabbed her sword, stuffed a change of clothes and a few supplies into a leather sack, and turned to go, before noticing the bundle on her bed. It had been on her windowsill when she woke up, but to Jane it had simply looked like a rolled up shirt. She’d tossed it aside for inspection later, and then forgotten about it.

Worrying her lip, Jane glanced at the door before scooping up the roll of cloth. It was the grey colour that Gunther wore, and now she thought about it there was a certain weight to it.

Unrolling it, Jane saw that it was one of Gunther’s shirts, and it had been wrapped around . . . .

“A silver arrow?” Jane frowned, glanced at the door again, and then stuffed the arrow and shirt into her sack and ran out of the room. She would have to think about it later.

\---

Smithy stood by the gate, holding a horse by the reigns. Sir Theodore, Pepper and Jester stood beside him, Pepper with a small package.

“Breakfast,” she said, handing it to Jane. “You have not eaten yet today and you need to keep your strength up. There is more food in your saddlebags.”

Jane thanked her, and then inclined her head briefly at Sir Theodore before mounting the horse.

“Take care, Jane,” he cautioned her. “This is all becoming quite strange.”

“Yes, Sir,” she promised firmly. “If I ride through tonight, I should be able to catch up with Gunther, assuming he stopped to rest his horse.”

“That is the thing though, Jane!” Exclaimed Jester, agitatedly. “Gunther didn’t _take_ his horse!”

Smithy nodded up at Jane. “She is still in her stall. In fact,” he added, almost to himself, “He has not been near her since he got back.”

“He is on foot?” Jane frowned. “Then I should catch him today.” She looked at Sir Theodore. “Shall I bring him back, or . . . ?”

“Complete the quest if you can, Jane, but return if you need to. Do not take unnecessary risks.”

Jane nodded, and then looked towards the mountain. “Can someone tell—“

“I will be sure to let him know, Jane.” Jester smiled at her.

“Thank you.” Jane took the reigns from Smithy, and then took off at a trot, breaking into a gallop once she was past the village.

If Gunther thought he could leave her behind, he had better be ready to think again.

\---

It was never really the best idea to travel through forest at night, Jane knew, but she had yet to find Gunther, and the weight of her sword on her back reassured her.

She was confused, though, as to how she could have failed to find him. He was on foot, while she had a horse, and this was the only direction he could have come. There was only one road leading away from Kippernia Castle, and although it eventually branched into two smaller roads, one of those simply led to the distant little Shale Village, and no further. Unless he had gone across the county-side, which made no sense.

 _No, he has to have come this way._ Jane mused. _Maybe he saw me coming and hid until I passed. He could be following me._

She slowed her weary horse and debated turning back when a howl echoed through the trees.

Wolves. Jane cursed as her horse whickered nervously beneath her. There would be no point in turning back now; she was more than halfway through the forest. She could make out the sudden break in the path ahead, where the forest ended in a deep valley, and any traveller who wanted to cross had to follow the side until the ground levelled out. There was an inn down there too, she was sure.

“Calm down, boy,” she spoke softly to the horse, leaning forwards to pat its neck. “We will get down there and stop for the night.” _Maybe Gunther has done the same,_ she added to herself. 

There was another howl, and it sounded closer. The horse shied away from the noise, and Jane nudged it forward.

“Not far now . . . .”

Five wolves jumped from the gloom of the trees and onto the path, snarling as they began surrounding the horse. Jane drew her sword and slashed at one as it leapt for her horse’s throat, but several others jumped forward, snapping at the larger animal. With a terrified scream, the horse kicked out, knocking one of the wolves back before darting forwards, leaping over the wolf Jane had struck down and tearing towards the end of the path, and the valley beyond.

Jane gave a wordless cry as she tried to stop the horse, but the animal would not be halted, and the last stretch of ground rapidly vanished as it leapt out over the ravine.

Jane’s heart seemed to stop as the horse made the leap, but then her head took over, and she quickly jumped from the saddle, throwing her sword ahead of her as she twisted in the air and reached back towards the valley wall with both arms. 

She hit the edge with a thud and a flash of pain, and scrabbled for purchase on the loose stones of the path. Most of her upper body was on the flat ground, but the rest of her hung over the edge, and she couldn’t get a grip . . . .

There was a distant crash, and Jane knew her horse had hit the ground. She closed her eyes and grimaced, trying to focus through pain and horror and grasp the ground. She could feel loose stones cut at her fingers, but ignored them as she continued to struggle. 

There was a menacing growl, and Jane looked up to see a wolf stalking towards her. Her sword was lying on the path in front of her, but if she reached for it then she’d lose hold. She closed her eyes again, trying to keep calm and sort through her options, when a yelp made her open them. The wolf disappeared in a blur of dull colours, and she could hear the sound of a fight as the other wolves turned towards their attacker.

Jane tried to see what had happened, but lost her hold and slid over the edge.


	4. Wolves and Worry

Jane, covered in dust and scratches, cold, tired, and sore, was holding onto a bush for dear life. She’d only slid a small distance before the plant had presented itself, but a few moments scrabbling with her feet revealed that there didn’t seem to be any other vegetation to use as footholds to climb back up. Remembering all that Sir Theodore had told her about remaining calm in battle, she held on and listened to the fight that went on above while she sorted through recent events in her head.

Going by the noise, the battle was currently in the wolves’ favour, and it seemed they were battling a human. The moonlight was still strong after the recent full moon, and the muted colours of her rescuer had looked very familiar. It had to be Gunther. Jane wasn’t sure what to think of this, but right now she didn’t care. If he could shake off the wolves long enough to give her a hand, then maybe they could make an escape, or climb a tree or something. Jane grimaced at this thought, as the pain in her side pounded. _God’s blood! Damn horses!_ She knew she rode Dragon for a reason. 

“At least _he_ can keep his head in an emergency. Not even a horse should panic so much over a few wolves!” She ground out angrily, as spiky leaves brushed her cheek. _And what will I say to Smithy . . . ?_ She deflated slightly at this thought, imagining the look on her friend’s face, and cursed again. 

“Worry about that later, Jane.” She reminded herself, as the bark of the bush rubbed against her hand, and her grip began to loosen.

The scuffle above wasn’t sounding too good, either. If it went on much longer then Gunther would grow tired . . . .

There was a growl, much deeper than she thought a wolf could make, and intensely angry. Jane felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle, and shuddered as she adjusted her hold on the bush, once again scrabbling for a foothold. She really had to get back up there, before something happened to Gunther. Even though this whole situation was his fault, she couldn’t really wait around while he got himself killed.

The growl faded, and Jane could hear Gunther let loose with one of his war cries. _The one he uses when he’s feeling over-confident,_ Jane thought distractedly, busy dragging her knee up underneath her, attempting to wedge it between the base of the bush and the valley wall. She eventually succeeded, and paused to listen, breathing heavily.

The wolves were . . . whimpering, and yelping, and it sounded for all the world as though they were _losing_. Jane frowned in confusion, and began hauling herself upwards, towards the bush, until she was crouching on one leg, the other braced against the dirt wall. She clung to the bush with one hand and the wall with another, while the fight above came to an end with one final thud, and silence seemed to spread through the entire forest. Noises that Jane hadn’t even realised she’d been hearing ceased, until all that was left was her own breathing. She assessed the situation, and realised she wouldn’t be going anywhere in a hurry, except maybe down. There didn’t seem to any wolves moving around above, although she couldn’t hear a person, either.

“G-Gunther . . . ?” She called out, her throat dry from dust. “Are you there?”

There was a scrambling noise, and then Gunther’s face appeared above her, pale in the moonlight.

“Jane,” he panted, extending a hand towards her. It was covered in blood.

She stared at it in confusion, until his voice snapped her back to reality.

“There is a time and a place for being squeamish, Jane, and the when and where are _never_ ‘hanging over the edge of a cliff’,” he pointed out impatiently.

Jane blinked, prepared to snap back angrily, before shaking her head and reaching out a hand.

His grip was slick, but he reached down his other hand and grabbed her sleeve, and hauled her up easily.

They both lay on the path, panting for breath and clutching at their sides, for quite a while. When her heart had stopped racing and breathing had become easier, Jane turned her head to look at Gunther, confused. How could he possibly have survived that?

Beside her, Gunther looked her over quickly. “You are uninjured?” He asked, his voice thick.

Jane nodded. “Only a few bruises.”

She sat up slowly, keeping her back to Gunther as she gingerly touched her side. It really hurt, and a wave of dizziness washed over her as she stood.

Gunther had risen to collect both his sword and hers, as well as the bow and arrows he had tossed into a bush, but turned as she hissed in pain.

“Liar,” he said dryly, although Jane thought that he might have looked concerned.

He gathered the weapons, sheathing his own sword and slipping Jane’s back into the sheath on her back, before lightly gripping her arm.

“We should keep moving,” he said shortly. “There’s an inn down here.”

Jane was burning with questions, but a quick look at the long path ahead smothered them in tiredness. Questions would have to be asked later, but they would be asked. Jane would make certain of _that_.

\---

The two walked in silence for a long while, Jane stumbling occasionally and Gunther not letting go of her arm, worried she’d fall.

She didn’t look too good, all scratched and holding onto her side with her free hand. Gunther, who was by now feeling fine, if a little tired, felt guilty.

 _So much for my backup plan,_ he sighed to himself. He’d never been that great at strategising, after all, and Jane was, well, Jane.

“Should have known,” he muttered to himself.

Jane gave no indication of hearing, and Gunther continued on in silence, keeping his ears open for signs of any more wolves, although he doubted any more would try anything. Hopefully the bodies he’d left behind him would be warning enough.

Gunther suppressed a shudder as he remembered the fight, and the feeling as the wolf inside of him had almost taken over. He’d been losing, badly, and the werewolf had seemed desperate to fight the wolves, almost as though it was clawing at his mind. Gunther supposed he had eventually relented, although he wasn’t entirely confident he had, and the werewolf had grasped at his moment of weakness, almost turning him.

He’d stopped it in time, but only just. Gunther had always been dimly aware that he could chose to turn at any time, day or night, full moon or no. He’d just never imagined that he _would_.

The Wolf had been furious, and the feeling had been dreadful as it struggled again, but Gunther had refuse to relent, and eventually it snapped, sending forth a wave of strength so intense that Gunther had almost been overwhelmed, before some instinct kicked in. He’d thrown away his sword after that, and the wolves hadn’t stood a chance. He’d attacked, disgusted at himself even as he ripped them apart, both awed and ashamed by the rush of power. His senses had been heightened ever since the bite, but it was nothing compared to this. And the _strength_. No knight could match him with strength like that . . . .

Gunther growled quietly to himself and turned away from the thoughts. _I will not be tempted!_

Beside him, Jane winced as his grip on her arm tightened, and he quickly removed his hand under her glare.

“Sorry, sorry.”

They stepped out of the last of the trees, and into the light pouring out of a window of the inn. Gunther sighed in relief and turned towards the door.

“Are you injured?” Jane asked suddenly.

Gunther’s hand flew automatically to the wound in his flesh, between hip and ribcage. But of course she couldn’t see it, and any tears in his clothes no longer had the accompanying tears of flesh.

“Nothing to worry about,” he said lightly, and put an end to the conversation by knocking on the inn door.

\---

It had taken some time to convince the Innkeeper and his wife that they weren’t a pair of mass-murdering madmen, but eventually the story of the wolf attack, heavily edited, and the clink of coin in Gunther’s purse won them over. The woman had helped Jane upstairs, and treated her wounds. Apparently they weren’t too serious, just so long as she rested for a few days. Gunther wasn’t sure if that was actually true, or if the Innkeeper was just hoping for some more money.

It had been a long and restless night, in an uncomfortable bed and a fetid smelling room, but at least he was clean. He sat downstairs by the fire and waited for Jane to wake up. He’d debated taking off and leaving her again, but she’d just follow him, and now she had no horse, and no supplies. There were times when Gunther knew he should listen to the nagging, guilt-inducing feeling in his gut, and this was one of them. 

He knew taking Jane could lead to problems, such as how to travel without a horse. Horses had been scared to death of him since he’d been bitten, and he’d had his work cut out just riding his once faithful steed home. 

But Gunther also knew those problems could be overcome. If they travelled by foot during they day, at walking pace, then once Jane fell asleep at night he’d be free to roam around until dawn, searching for the cure and maybe hunting for something to feed both of them. The difficulty lay in the possibility that they might not have any success before the next full moon, and then the situation would get a little on the desperate side.

“Morning, Gunther,” said Jane, halfway down the staircase.

His ears had picked up the tread of her feet, and he’d smelt her, but Gunther had been so deep in thought that her presence hadn’t really registered. He stood and smiled at her briefly.

“Feeling better?”

“A good deal better than I might be feeling at the moment, thanks to you, I suppose.” She grimaced slightly as she stepped away from the staircase, but Gunther doubted it was her side that caused it. “On the other hand, if you had waited for me yesterday, then none of this would have happened.”

Gunther sighed; he should have known. “Whether we travelled together or not, there would still be wolves lurking in the woods, Jane.”

“But perhaps they would be less eager to attack two than one. Here.” Her hand moved quickly and she tossed a piece of grey cloth towards him.

Gunther raised his hand to catch it, only remembering at the last minute what it had been used for. _So she found the arrow._

Jane continued to talk in a slightly cold tone. “It was at the top of my sack, and it got covered in dust, so Mrs. Ploughman washed it.” She frowned at him, but said nothing more about his unusual parting gift, for which he was grateful. “I lost my money and supplies with my horse, so you will have to buy some food and pay for everything.” 

She fixed him with a glare before turning towards the kitchen, and Gunther sighed. Apparently she felt he owed her.


	5. Travel and Troubled Thoughts

Jane watched as the Innkeeper and his wife argued with one another while Gunther loaded bread, cheese, some fresh garden vegetables, a small flagon of ale, and an small and ancient-looking pot onto a blanket. He'd folded the blanket into a neat bundle by the time they seemed to reach an agreement, and named their price. It was far too high, but Gunther simply nodded and pulled out his purse.

Jane frowned. _Surely this is not the son of Magnus the Merchant!_ Gunther would certainly have known the value of every item in the blanket, and could probably have haggled until they were down to a fraction of their true cost. _Perhaps he is just in a hurry to leave._

The coins clinked as Gunther placed them on the table, and the Innkeeper snatched them up eagerly.

"If you wait just a moment we can get what we owe you back," he said.

"Do not bother," Gunther replied shortly. "We appreciate your help."

 _What?_ Jane stifled her gasp. _How much money does he_ have _?_ She glanced into his purse, and frowned.

They set off by mid-morning, Gunther easily shouldering their small bundle of supplies. They were walking away from the woods now, into rolling fields tended by peasants with simple tools, but Jane hoped they would find some shade before midday.

Her side ached, dully and persistently, but nothing like as bad as it had last night, and she knew she could grit her teeth and take it. Gunther's long and easy strides threatened to out-pace hers, but Jane soon fell into a comfortable stride of her own, and before long the inn disappeared from view.

Jane had slept soundly through the night, but had woken early in the morning, hounded by a series of troubling thoughts. Gunther leaving without her, while unexpected, was not completely out of character, but without his horse? And why had he left her that arrow, how had he travelled so far, and how did he defeat those wolves? Alone, those questions may have been easy to explain, but combined they led Jane to a disquieting conclusion, one that she hoped was wrong.

Beside her, Gunther raised a hand to shield his eyes and scanned the landscape once again. Jane watched him from the corner of her eye, trying not to think about what it would mean if her theory was right. It was one of the few moments when she knew she would not want to carry out her duty as a knight.

"How are you holding up?" Gunther asked, suddenly, after several hours.

"Fine, although I would rather not be walking," returned Jane. "You should have brought your horse." She wondered if she wanted the answers to her questions badly enough to ask for them, or if it would be better to wrap herself in ignorance and hope for the best. But that had never been her way, and she found she couldn't play the coward now, so she fixed her eyes on Gunther and waited for his answer.

"She had not recovered from our last journey, and it would not do to inconvenience the King by taking another horse," he replied, apparently unaware of her scrutiny, but sounding slightly concerned for the beast in question. "Besides, I remembered what Sir Theodore said about staying close to the ground. You can not get much closer than this!"

"I noticed," muttered Jane, wiping away some of the road dust that clung to her sweating forehead. "This would all be so much easier if Dragon was with us."

Gunther glanced at her in surprise. "Are you questioning Sir Theodore's decision?"

"N-no!" Jane was quick to protest. "I was simply . . . ."

"Disagreeing with it," supplied Gunther, and grinned smugly when she coloured.

"While I confess I do not understand _why_ Sir Theodore insisted Dragon stay behind, I respect his decisions." She added under her breath, "Unlike some people."

Gunther ignored this last jab. "Did you actually _tell_ Dragon he was not allowed to come?"

"Of course. Dragon and I keep no secrets from one another."

Gunther, much to Jane's confusion, gave her a strange look. "And he let you come?"

"He was not happy, but, well, he is not my mother! One mother is bad enough; I do not need two fussing about me."

"But it must be nice," Gunther suggested. He sounded almost wistful, Jane thought.

"Knowing that they care, I mean. Not that _I_ care about that sort of stuff." He added quickly.

Now it was Jane's turn to give Gunther an odd look. It had never occurred to her to wonder about Gunther's mother. She supposed he must have had one at some point, after all, who didn't? But dealing with his father from time to time was more than enough, and she had no desire to enquire about the rest of his family.

"It is not that I am ungrateful," she answered slowly, her thoughts returning to her own family. "But Mother needs to realise that I am going to be a knight one day. She cannot protect me forever."

Gunther did not reply, but stared thoughtfully ahead. He was walking in a rather relaxed manner, far too slowly to get him as far as he had yesterday.

"Gunther, how is it you reached the woods ahead of me?"

"Oh, I left at night, and rode as far as the Shale Village junction on the cart of one of my father's traders," he answered easily. "I _am_ sorry that you got hurt following me, Jane. It was not fair of me to leave you behind."

"Why did you? And do not try to tell me it was for my own good! That has never stopped you from crossing swords with me in the past." She gave him a glare, but it was not a very serious one. His answers had all been logical so far, and Jane did not find them impossible to believe. The fact that she _wanted_ to believe him didn't hurt, either.

"We may cross more than mere swords this time, Jane," he said softly, and then shook his head and shrugged. "This is all foolishness. I should not have left without you, and you should not have followed me into those woods at night. Both of us have done unwise things, and it will probably not be the last time."

"You were in those woods too-!" Protested Jane.

"I was resting on the other side when you screamed," he returned, smug once again.

"I did not scream!"

"Oh you did! Like a girl!"

Jane prepared to snap back a reply, when she paused and shook her head. "You may be growing up, Gunther, but some things about you will never change."

Gunther smiled in return, looking pleased by her statement.

The rest of the day passed in silence, and Jane smiled gratefully when she saw some trees growing by a creek. The creek itself had been flowing a small way from the road for some distance now, but the land had been cleared, and offered no shelter.

It was only an hour or two before sunset, and Jane's legs, as well as her side, were beginning to protest. She walked towards the trees, almost not caring whether or not Gunther followed her, although she was relieved when he did. She flopped down at the base of one of the trees, and Gunther dropped the bundle beside her, before wandering off to collect dry twigs for a fire. Jane heaved a sigh before getting back to her feet and gathering some stones. She couldn't lie around while Gunther did all the work, but it was annoying that he didn't even seem to be tired.

Jane arranged the stones in a circle, and Gunther built a fire inside them. It was a task that seemed to require more time, effort, and muttering than when Sir Ivon or Sir Theodore performed it, although Jane thought better of pointing that out to Gunther, who beamed proudly when the flame finally took.

He made a tripod of green branches taken from the trees, and Jane hung the pot, partially filled with water, over the fire. Then they broke the rather wilted looking vegetables into small pieces and threw them in. Jane stirred the concoction with a stick, and then looked at Gunther, who shrugged. She supposed that the meal would at least be _interesting_ , in a very bland sort of way.

Gunther tossed some more sticks onto the fire before wandering down to the creek. He pulled off his shirt and kneeled on the bank, dunking his head into the water.

Jane pursed her lips and turned back to the pot. She'd bathed at the inn, and obviously would have to wait for a more private location before doing so again. _Maggots_.

Gunther re-emerged with a splash, and Jane waited for him to return to the fire, smug and refreshed. Instead there was another splash, and she glanced over at the creek, only to see a pile of clothes on the bank and a few ripples on the water's surface.

Jane glowered at the flames, and she stirred the vegetables vigorously. Going swimming was _really_ rubbing it in.

"I hope he drowns," she muttered darkly.

He was under for so long that she began to fear he had.

Gunther, surrounded by the cool water of the creek, and finally free of the dust and dreariness of the road, was dimly aware that what he was doing was stupid. He knew Jane would not be happy about being left with the cooking, but the enticing flash of colour he'd seen in the sun's dying rays had been too good to resist.

 _There you are . . . ._ He darted forwards, hands and feet pushing furiously against the water, and without even thinking about it, closed his mouth around his prey.

The water quickly turned pink.

When he finally returned, Jane was standing on the bank, trying not to look anxious. She shot him a glare and turned to go when something wiggling in his hand caught her attention.

"Fish?" She laughed out loud. She'd forgive him almost anything for some fish.

Jane waited by the fire while Gunther waded towards the bank and hit the heads of the fish on the ground, stunning them. He dressed, and then handed them over to Jane.

"Did you bring a knife?" She asked as he stood opposite her, the hot stones of the fire sizzling as his hair dripped on them.

Gunther rummaged around in his pack before drawing out a short dagger. He pushed his hair away from his face with his spare hand as he passed it to her.

Jane smiled as she accepted it, and then quickly decapitated and gutted the fish before dropping them straight onto the fire. Gunther stirred the vegetables as she turned the fish, and then lifted the pot from the fire and tipped out the water, leaving only the vegetables behind. Jane divided the fish between them, and they stuck into the meal without ceremony. The vegetables were soft and edible, but the fish were _delicious_ , blackened on the outside but tender on the inside.

There was a loud crack from Gunther's side of the fire, and Jane glanced up in time to see the last piece of his fish vanish before he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and gave her a sheepish grin. Jane smiled back, glad to see he paid as much attention to her mother's lectures on not eating like a starved peasant as she did.

The fire crackled and smoke spiralled up into the dark sky as Gunther waited for Jane's breathing to even out. It had taken quite a while to convince her to let him take first watch while she used the blanket, but eventually she had conceded, after making him promise to wake her on time, or at the first sight of trouble.

Gunther stood and stretched, convinced that Jane was fast asleep. He considered simply taking off into the night and leaving her, sure that no predator would come near this clearing after he had spent so much time in it, and that Jane could defend herself against any other threat. She would be able to make it back to the inn by sundown the next day, and be home within three days. But . . . Jane would not go home. She was as stubborn as a stain, and, if he was honest, a better tracker than he. She would follow him long after she should have given up, and even into danger.

Gunther sighed and shook his head, placing his dagger next to Jane just in case, before looking back at the fire. She had come close to death last night because he had left without her, and he knew he would never be able to return to the castle without her, not least because Dragon would burn him to a crisp.

It was troublesome, but abandoning Jane was not an option. However, that didn't mean he couldn't make the most of the night.

After making certain once more that Jane was sleeping soundly, Gunther closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He focused, past the smoke from the fire and the lingering smell of fish, past the scent and sound of Jane, and the stirring of the slight breeze in the surrounding trees, past the trails of animals that been gone for days and humans that had been gone for weeks, past countless strange things that Gunther didn't know but suddenly did, he found the strong stench of decaying flesh, and opened his eyes.

_Ah, yes . . . ._

He wanted to seek out a wizard more than anything, but there was something else he had to do first

 


	6. Rissk and Revelation

The horse lay where it had fallen, neck twisted at an irregular angle. Scavengers had already taken its eyes, and Gunther could smell more waiting to feast on the dead beast in the night, but at least it was not Shade, his own horse.

Gunther could not ignore a stab of guilt as he reached for the saddlebags. He doubted that the horse would have leapt if it had only had wolves to contend with.

The food was covered in ants, and he quickly tossed it aside, almost sighing again, in relief. He would take fish every day over the hard biscuits Pepper had invented to last for long journeys. It didn't look like the ants were having much luck with them, either.

Next to be pulled out was a rough map of the roadways surrounding the castle. Gunther had brought his own copy, and he doubted it would be of much use if they continued on in the same direction for much longer, but he pocketed it anyway. After that was one of Jester's juggling stones. Gunther looked at it in disgust before hurling it off into the woods. That'd teach the clown to try and distract a knight when she had a job to do.

The last thing to be withdrawn was Jane's small purse, which he held delicately by one string. He wasn't sure what kind of money she'd brought with her, and wasn't willing to find out.

He dropped the purse back into the saddlebag, and then unstrapped the saddle. It took some heaving, and the smell was enticing rather than repulsive, but Gunther growled under his breath and kept working until he could pull the saddle away from the horse. It was a good saddle, just as the horse had been a good animal, and it seemed a shame to waste both.

He heaved the saddle up into a tree near the path where, with any luck, no one would see it, in the hope of fetching it on the return journey. Maybe by then they'd have another horse for the stable, too. Gunther used a stone to make a small mark in the tree, and then set off at a run. He'd have to hurry if he wanted to get back in time for a few hours of sleep.

Jane had washed her face, buried the final few embers of the fire, prepared breakfast and gathered their remaining supplies into a pile by the time Gunther woke up.

He gulped down the bread and cheese, took a long drink of ale, and then shoved their supplies into the blanket-bundle and shouldered it, eager to go. Jane sighed and joined him on the road.

They saw a few more peasants that day, including a farmer ploughing a field. There was a fat horse attached to the equipment, and Jane smiled happily.

"Finally! We can buy that horse."

Gunther gave her an incredulous look. "You would travel a quest on the back of a _plough horse_?"

"It is more practical than travelling on foot," said Jane defiantly, shielding her eyes as the wind changed direction and began stirring up dust.

"We would have to take turns riding," said Gunther. "So we would not travel any faster than we already are. Besides," he added as the horse began rearing, shrieking and pulling at its restraints. "It does not look very well trained. Come on." He began hurrying down the road, and Jane had no choice but to follow him, throwing a concerned glance back at the misbehaving beast.

It was warmer that night, although their camp was much less comfortable. There was no dry wood, which meant no fire, which meant bread and cheese for dinner. They ate in silence, laboriously chewing the dry meal. They had finished their ale earlier in the afternoon, and Jane missed it already. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was eating roast meat with seasoned vegetables, dripping with juices and warm from Pepper's fire, but all that did was make the bread taste like dust in her mouth.

Jane took first watch, tossing the blanket at Gunther and promising to wake him in a few hours. He sighed impatiently but laid down on the blanket, tossing a "Good night," over his shoulder before falling asleep.

Jane sat huddled against the cold and stared into the growing darkness. The moon rose, a cold sliver against the night sky. The night was quiet, almost impossibly so, as though she and Gunther were the only living things for miles. Jane rubbed her arms as they turned to gooseflesh, and shivered, trying to convince herself it was only from the cold.

Jane woke with a start at the sound of someone approaching, but it was only Gunther, with a dead rabbit in his hand and a smug smile on his face.

He dropped his bow and arrows, and then set about skinning and gutting his catch. "We can cook it as soon as we find enough wood to make a fire."

Jane nodded and gratefully packed the last of the bread and cheese into the blanket. Roast rabbit for breakfast would beat that any day.

It was another hot day, and they didn't find any dry wood until it was almost midday. But the rabbit cooked well, and they both laid down in the shade with full stomachs. Jane supposed they would only rest for a few minutes before setting off again, and started in surprise when Gunther began snoring softly beside her.

He had one hand over his eyes, and the other resting on his stomach. His hair, tied in a loose ponytail, was spread out beneath him, and Jane smiled as she plucked a blade of grass from it. When it came down to it, she could not help feeling concerned for the squire.

He may have been her rival, but Jane wondered if she would have tried so hard to be a successful knight if he had not been. She could still remember all the times she had worried about what Gunther would think of her if she made a mistake, or failed at a task, or wasn't strong enough to handle a new weapon. If she thought he would laugh at herr, she'd always try harder. She wasn't sure what had made his opinion so important to her, but maybe it was because he was not afraid to be blunt with her. While Jester and the others would be kind, Gunther would be honest. Well, mostly, anyway.

Jane smiled again and flicked away the piece of grass before standing up and brushing herself off. She busied herself, as quietly as possible, with burying the fire and packing up the small mess they'd made. Grabbing up the blanket, she hissed in pain and drew her hand back to find a small twig wedged under her nail. She gingerly pulled it out, and then sucked on the injured digit, the metallic tang of blood mixing with the after-taste of roast rabbit.

Behind her, Gunther woke with a start and sat up. "Jane? What is it . . . ?" He trailed off as she pulled her finger from her mouth, another drop of blood forming and spilling over the edge of her nail, and his forehead began to glisten with sweat.

Jane frowned at his expression and glanced down at her hand. "It is only a little blood."

He was gone when she looked back up.

In a small hollow in the side of one of the many surrounding fields, Gunther crouched with his head in his hands. He was trying very hard to form a coherent thought, but his mind constantly returned to one thing; Jane's blood. Not even the rabbit he'd gutted earlier that day had tempted him so much. He'd been able to stop himself from simply eating the whole thing raw, but this was another matter entirely. Just that single drop had almost turned him, then and there, and he was sure he could still smell it; certain he could still see it. He'd never wanted anything in his life as much as he wanted that blood. He wanted to tear her open and lap up every last drop, then swallow up her innards and suck the marrow from her bones. He wanted—

"No I do not!" Gunther screamed, punching the ground. He stared at his hand as the ugly thoughts swirled in his brain.

 _You do, you do, you_ do. _You_ need _to._

The dirt beneath his fingers seemed to turn red, and Gunther squeezed his hand around it, before releasing it with a yell and shoving his hand into his mouth.

There was a crack, and Gunther whimpered, but kept his jaw locked around his hand as blood trickled down his arm. It hurt, but the pain offered some distraction, and there was no satisfaction in the taste. _Jane would taste no different,_ he told himself, relieved, as his chest stopped heaving and his heart began to slow its thundering.

"Gunther? Are you alright?"

Gunther froze as he heard Jane stop behind him, a small distance away. He gingerly removed his hand and licked the blood from his lips before standing up.

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought I heard you yelling." She took another step forward. "Why did you run off like that?"

He spun around, keeping the hand out of view behind his back as he faced her. There was an uncomfortable itching sensation as the bones knit together and the holes closed over. He closed his eyes briefly in relief when he realised that the smell of blood had weakened; apparently the wound had already stopped bleeding.

"I, uh, call of nature." He shrugged apologetically, placed his hand by his side, and began walking back towards the road.

Behind him, Jane frowned in confusion at the small bloodstain on the back of his shirt.

They travelled on for a week, beyond the farmland and into untamed regions, where the roads were narrow and the going hard. Jane was growing more and more frustrated as they seemed to be no closer to reaching their goal. No one they talked to was able to answer their questions, and she was beginning to wonder if it really _was_ a waste of time.

And, although she would never say so out loud, Jane was beginning to miss home. Her soft bed, the warm kitchen where Pepper always had something to eat, her friends, and, although she cringed at the thought, her parents. But she missed Dragon most of all. She could talk to Dragon; say what she needed to say when she needed to say it. And she could be angry around him, or ridiculously happy, or even a little bit crazy without ever worrying what he would think. And oh, how she missed flying. The knowledge that she could have travelled the same distance in half a day with Dragon was truly infuriating. They were still on foot, and, it seemed to Jane, going nowhere very, _very_ slowly.

Gunther seemed to be angry about their lack of progress too, although it was hard to be sure. Lately he had been angry about everything.

Jane's concern for Gunther had been growing with each day, as he distanced himself from her more and more. He always walked several meters ahead, and rarely ever spoke. He'd always been aloof, Jane knew, but this was more than that. Denial was getting her nowhere.

Sitting by the fire one night, legs aching after yet another day of walking, Jane studied Gunther as they ate their dinner. It was a cool night, and he was farther from the fire than he needed to be, slightly turned away from her as he crouched on his haunches, tearing into the pheasant he had apparently caught nesting, and staring at the ground, deep in thought.

Neither of them had had a chance to bathe in a while now, and Jane supposed she smelled pretty bad, but Gunther looked positively feral, with his hair dishevelled, and in need of a shave.

 _He's not even trying anymore_ , she realised, and the thought frightened her more than her original comprehension had.

"I know you were bitten." The fire snapped as she spoke, as though in warning.

Startled, he looked at her, his gaze sharp and intense.

Jane took a deep breath before continuing. "By that werewolf you had to kill."

He blinked, and his eyes seemed duller, less focused and more familiar. "I should have known you would figure it out," he said, tiredly. "How?"

Jane shrugged. "You have not been yourself lately. No insults, no teasing, you have not even been complaining! You have been taking off during your watch for at least the last few nights, probably more. You will not go near a horse, even though riding would make our journey a lot easier. You have been catching fish, pheasants, even rabbits without any weapons." She paused. "I counted your arrows. You have not used any. All those things were obvious, but actually it was a small thing that has been bothering me for a while now."

Gunther looked at her curiously, and Jane almost had to smile.

"You refused change from the people at the inn. The coins would have been silver."

Gunther gave her a wry smile, before cracking open a small bone and sucking out the marrow. He tossed it onto the fire and stared thoughtfully at the flames for a while. Silence settled over their camp, before he stood up and began walking away from the firelight. He paused to speak, but didn't turn around.

"You have the arrow, and I will not blame you if you use it."

"Gunther!" Jane jumped to her feet. "You Beef-Brain! If there is a cure, we will find it. I swear on the Knights' Code."

"And if there is not?" Gunther turned to face her then, and fear prickled along Jane's spine as she searched for an answer but found none. He gave her a small smile before turning away again. "Get some sleep; I will be back in the morning."


	7. Cabbages and Commotion

Jester paused, gasping for breath, outside of Dragon's cave. It was no small climb up the mountain, and it was that sort of sweat-inducing exercise that made him glad he was not training to be a knight.

"You again, Jingle-boy?" Dragon stepped out of his cave and looked down his nose at Jester, who smiled a little nervously.

"Me again, Dragon," he agreed. "Pepper said to tell you she will have to tip out the cabbage stew, soon. It is beginning to make an awful stench."

Dragon's stomach rumbled loudly, the sound echoing through the cave. Jester tried not to look too hopeful as he watched conflict play across the giant green face. They had been trying to bribe him down from the cave ever since Jane had left, but Dragon had stubbornly clung to his sulks. Jester was convinced that not even Prince Cuthbert could be so childish.

As the last of the echoes faded like distant thunder, Dragon drew himself up to his full and imposing height, and folded his arms. "I have already told you, I shall live on skyleaf, swamp weed and tufted cave grass until Jane returns." He grimaced briefly, before glaring at Jester. "Is that a problem?"

"Oh, no, not at all! Good for the figure, I hear. Not that there's anything _wrong_ with your figure, of course!" Jester offered a wobbly smile as Dragon's glare intensified. "I just –uh, I shall be going, now. Songs to write, history to learn. Those scrolls will not read themselves!" Jester back-pedalled to the cave mouth and then turned and sprinted down the mountain, marvelling as he always did that the return journey was so much faster.

* * *

"I have an idea," said Smithy.

He, Pepper and Rake were all standing in the garden, listening to Jester as he described his visit with Dragon. The quartet stood some distance from the kitchen, which smelt rather strongly of cabbages. It was apparent to all that Pepper was almost at her wits' end, torn between wanting to care for Dragon in Jane's absence and trying to maintain her kitchen. Adding to her stress was the fact that the king had mentioned more than once that even _he_ was growing tired of cabbage-tainted food.

Smithy had clearly decided that it was time something was done, and he set off for the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he went.

Jester and Rake exchanged a look as the smith disappeared into the gloom. Jester took a great breath and pinched his nose closed as they prepared to follow, only to stumble backwards quickly as Smithy re-emerged.

The pot was large and heavy, the one Pepper used when preparing food for a banquet –or for Dragon. Years of heavy work had given Smithy strong arms, but they were stretched to their limits hauling the great pot of cabbage stew up the stairs.

He set it down and stood up, rolling his shoulders and staring straight ahead. Jester and Rake followed his gaze through the garden, the archway, and the training yard to the outer wall of the castle.

"Right then," said Smithy, and lifted the pot again.

* * *

The dense, dark forest was like another world. A world where a sworn knight-in-training would blindly follow a werewolf into the unknown. The situation was absurd, but Jane no longer knew what to think. As a knight, she had duties to protect the defenceless from threats such as, well, werewolves. Yet here she was, swearing to help, to defend . . . but this was not simply a cursed stranger or a monster in a human body. This was _Gunther_.

As a comrade, she had sworn loyalty to Gunther almost as much as to her king, and despite a few old hard feelings she knew she could never betray his trust, and certainly not _kill_ him. But beyond that, Jane truly did want to help him, as any true friend should. She had come to realise over the years that under all his empty boasts and harsh words, Gunther had made sacrifices to help her, and never sought any compensation, or even acknowledgement.

Although the circumstances could have been far better, Jane was glad for a chance to show that she knew, and had not forgotten.

Gunther himself seemed much happier after their talk the night before. His head was up, his movements almost effortless, and now and then he would give a toothy smile.

He was following his nose, he had told Jane, and she knew it was not entirely a jest. She had not quite been able to find the breath, or even the curiosity to ask exactly what he was following. The forest made for hard going, with its thick, unyielding undergrowth, and the roots of ancient trees waiting to trip any unwary traveller. The trees themselves grew close and tall, easily reaching upwards to heights far greater than the tallest castle tower.

It was difficult to tell even what time of day it was, as the sun had no hope of breaking through the heavy foliage. They had entered the forest early that morning, and the going had been so hard that Jane had lost all track of time. She was just drawing the breath to insist they stop, when Gunther's retreating back suddenly vanished completely from view, leaving a triumphant "Ah ha!" behind him.

"What?" gasped Jane before she too fell forward and staggered onto flat, civilised ground.

"A path, I knew it!" exclaimed Gunther, glancing around as Jane caught her balance.

"You could not have found this earlier?" Jane panted, hands on knees.

Gunther looked affronted, and gazed down at her from the lofty heights of his old superiority. "We did well to find it at all, coming in from the angle we did. However, if you think you could do better without me . . . ." He waved vaguely in the direction of the trees.

Jane huffed, and folded her arms, and tried not to look pleased that he was acting like his former self.

* * *

The oversized pot sat on the castle wall, and Smithy stood beside it, calmly taking in huge lungfuls of air and stretching his arms. To the amazement of Rake, Pepper and Jester, the smith had barely spilled a drop during the entire climb up the stairs.

The group now stood in full view of Dragon's cave, although their 'inferior short-life eyes' could not easily make it out.

"Shall I call out to him?" asked Jester. "Perhaps sing a song about the impending doom of this cabbage stew?" His lute was at the ready, and he was preparing to mount the battlements, but Smithy shook his head.

"No more pleading," he said, and tipped the stew over the wall.

Pepper gasped in dismay at such a waste, and the stench of cabbage grew more potent before the wind picked it up and took it away towards the mountain.

Smithy pulled the pot back, still half full of stew, just as Dragon descended and snatched it from the wall, quickly draining its contents. He burped loudly, igniting some of the surplus gas he had stored from his limited diet.

The castle staff had just enough time to duck before the stream of flame passed over them, with Rake instinctively throwing his arms around Pepper and Jester clutching his lute against his chest.

Dragon then tossed the pot back into the castle yard, where it landed with a loud clang, directed a haughty glare towards Smithy in particular, and then took off back to his cave.

As they stood dusting off their clothes, Pepper looked back down at the somewhat dented pot laying in the yard.

"I suppose I shall have to start on another batch now," she sighed.

"No," said Smithy, laying a gentle restraining hand on her arm as she headed for the stairs. "Let him ask, first. In the meantime I shall hammer out that pot."

Dragon was back in the yard by the following noon.

* * *

They had been travelling along the path for some time before Jane had felt revived enough to ask the question that had begun to bother her.

"Are you certain we are travelling the right way?"

"I am sure of it." Gunther didn't even hesitate before answering.

"How are you sure?"

"Instinct."

Jane stopped short, causing Gunther to do the same when he realised she was no longer following. He turned and looked back quizzically.

"Gunther . . ." began Jane, before pausing and considering her words. "Gunther, _whose_ instinct?"

Gunther blinked in confusion, before comprehension dawned on his face. "Jane," he took a step towards her and then stopped, as though afraid his nearness was unwanted. "You swore an oath to help me, though I will not force you to uphold it." He raised a hand as Jane began to protest. "Now let me swear an oath in return. I will not lead you to your doom, Jane. If you do not return from this quest unharmed, I shall never be a knight. I swear it."

Silence settled as the two gazed briefly at one another, and the Jane stepped forward to stand beside Gunther.

"Then we had better to be getting on," she said, and returned Gunther's smile with one of her own.

* * *

The forest was thinner here, and Jane could tell by the light filtering through that the day was drawing to a close.

Jane had been growing accustomed to the constant silence that surrounded them, as all the creatures of the forest obeyed their most basic instincts of self-preservation. Gunther, on the other hand, seemed restless, impatient, and increasingly _loud_. It had started with his confident footfalls becoming scuffed and clumping, and then an absurd amount of coughing, sighing, and throat clearing. Then he had started humming, then whistling, muttering under his breath about nothing much that Jane could tell, and now, _now_ he was reciting a bawdy poem about big-busted Bess. Jane was rapidly reaching the end of her tether by the third verse.

"And _what_ a generous lass was she," quoted Gunther, at increasing volume and with much arm-waving. "To share her bounty 'round, and whenever her dress slipped slightly down, you never heard a sou—"

"Gunther!" snapped Jane, " _Will_ you be—!"

There was the slightest breath of noise, a whisper-sound that Jane knew so well, and suddenly Gunther was there, thudding against her and grunting as the arrows hit home.


	8. Arrows and Agreements

Gunther cursed under his breath. "That _hurt_!"

Jane, wide-eyed and furious, pushed away from him and drew a breath "Wha-?"

"What?" came a puzzled voice from out of sight in the trees.

Jane spun around, drawing her sword, but Gunther replied as though to a villager in the main street of Kippernia.

"You missed."

"Never!" replied the voice, affronted. "Well, I shall try again, shall I?"

"I must advise against it," said Gunther.

"As would I, in your place!"

"We are representatives of His Highness, King Caradoc of Kippernium!" burst out Jane. "It will not bode well for you if you harm us."

She peered into the gloom, trying to spot their hidden assailant. Behind her, Gunther hissed as he surreptitiously pulled an arrow from his shoulder.

A new voice joined the strange conversation. "What king? What kingdom? All I see here are trees, and two fools who seek trouble."

"We seek no trouble," replied Jane, ignoring the comment about fools for the moment. "We are on a mission; we mean no harm to anyone!"

"Girl, you should hold your silence, although it is clear you know no shame!" snapped the second voice.

Jane's eyes narrowed, and she drew a deep breath before replying. "You are the ones who should be ashamed, shooting at innocent passers-by! We have posed no threat to you!"

"Innocent passers-by?" scoffed the first voice.

"You have been seeking us out all day," insisted the second. "And not very discretely, I must say!"

Jane's angry gaze turned to Gunther, who had two arrows in his hand, two holes in his tunic, and a sheepish look on his face.

"Oh, have we? I see," she bit out.

"Well I didn't expect them to greet us like this," he muttered. "I have to say, gentlemen, your intelligence does you credit," he continued, louder.

"Intelligent, certainly, but gentlemen we are not!" snapped the first voice. "And we don't have time to waste on your kind either."

"Please, hear me," said Gunther, hurriedly. "We are on a quest of great urgency, and I believe you can assist us!"

"Why would we do that?" asked the first voice. "What would it gain us?"

Gunther smirked, and Jane realised he had been hoping for that very question.

"I am the son of a merchant, perhaps you have heard of him? Magnus Breech of Kippernium?"

There was a short silence, and then; "It is possible we have heard that name. Go on."

"His fleet covers vast distances, gathering goods rare and exotic for trade. It has been some time since travelling folk have passed through our village, but he gladly trades with them, too," said Gunther, in the smooth tone he used when conducting business for his father.

 _Travelling folk?_ Wondered Jane. "Gypsies?" she whispered to Gunther, who elbowed her in response.

"I am sure a profitable understanding could be reached," he continued.

There was some hushed conversation between the two would-be ambushers, and although Jane could not hear the specifics it was clear from Gunther's face that they were coming around to his proposition.

"What exactly are you requiring in exchange for this ' _profitable understanding_ '?" Came the eventual enquiry.

"We are in need of information, a _certain kind_ of information, to help us with our quest," said Gunther. "I am hoping you have someone travelling with you who may be able to help."

"What kind of information?" asked the first voice.

"And for that matter, what kind of person?" demanded the second.

Here Gunther faltered, clearly unsure how much to share with his mysterious new friends.

"Do you honestly think these two have a _wizard_ travelling with them?" Jane whispered, irritated by Gunther's secrecy and his clearly badly thought-out plan.

"Or a wise man, or some kind of sage," Gunther whispered back. "There are many more of them than the two we have here, and they see so much more of what goes on than farmers and serfs. They are the best chance I have found so far, Jane." He raised his voice again in an attempt to answer their questions. "I have a, er, slight problem with, umm, well it is more of a, uh, bad reaction, shall we say? To an unfortunate encounter, of a kind, although that may be understating somewhat—"

" _If_ I may," interrupted Jane, rolling her eyes. She stepped forward to address the surrounding trees. "My friend has been cursed," she began, before Gunther swiftly interrupted.

"Jane!"

"Trust me," she hissed back, before adding irritably "If you know how." She turned back to the trees. "My friend is known well for his skill upon a horse. He is the envy of many for his matchless grace and assurance in the saddle. He is undefeated in competition, and is yet to meet his equal." Jane fought the urge to grimace at the outlandish claims. "He recently defeated a great number of men in contest for a generous prize, and one of his jealous opponents had him _cursed_." Jane paused for dramatic effect, certain that Jester would be proud of her efforts. "Now any horse in his presence recoils in fear; they sense him coming and flee in terror. This situation, I am sure you understand, simply cannot go on. It is untenable—"

"Yes, yes, alright!" One of the men interrupted. "A curse, eh? We might know someone who can advise you on such a matter."

"I cannot fully express my gratitude at the prospect of speaking to such a person," said Gunther, eagerly. "When can we meet?"

"We will return and speak to our leader. We had no plans of returning to Kippernia but perhaps in light of possible arrangements being made he _may_ be persuaded to assist you. There is a clearing a short distance along the road; if all is agreeable to our leader we will meet with you there in the morning."

"Thank you," said Jane and Gunther in unison, the latter's voice a blend of hope and gratitude which was rather pleasing to the former.

* * *

"So now what?" asked Jane, after Gunther had assured her that their mysterious assailants-turned-benefactors had gone.

"A small clearing sounds like as good a place as any to pass the night," he replied. "I would suggest trying to find it before total darkness descends."

This was agreeable to Jane so the two set off at a comfortable pace, walking side by side in the gloom.

"I must apologise, Jane," said Gunther suddenly, after several moments of silence. "I do trust you, truly."

Jane blinked in surprise, amazed that her angry words had somehow dented Gunther's thick skull.

"Then perhaps you could keep a few less secrets from me, particularly when we are strolling into a trap!"

"In my own defence I must clarify that I did not expect them to shoot at us!" replied Gunther. "I simply did not want to raise your hopes when I did not know if anything would come of them. If those two had not spoken to us then we would have had to approach their camp, which complicates matters somewhat, due to the animals and such. In fact," he added, in a more upbeat tone, "Your ruse was really quite brilliant! Now I have an excuse to keep my distance, and they have no cause to dice me into pieces."

"Well," said Jane, smiling a little. "I can be quite helpful when my partner is not preventing me."

"Point taken, Jane," said Gunther. "I am suitably chastened, I assure you."

"Very good then," replied Jane, and comfortable silence descended between them once more, until Gunther spoke again.

"I must say, Jane, I did not realise you were such a devoted admirer of my talent with horses. Perhaps when we return to the castle I can tutor you in the ways of my _'matchless grace'_ and _'unequalled talent'_."

Jane didn't have to look at Gunther to know he was smirking at her.

"Amazing, is it not," she retorted. "That anyone would believe such a ridiculous tale!"

* * *

The clearing _was_ small, and exposed to the road, but otherwise sheltered and had obviously hosted many passers-by. The well-used fire pit was aglow once more, smoke ascending in an uninterrupted column through the still air.

Their food was simple and bland, young rabbit plucked from the burrow and roasted. Jane snapped a bone to suck out the juices, and smiled as she imagined her mother's reaction to such a scene.

"Perhaps we will be able to trade for some herbs and spices tomorrow," said Gunther, enthusiastically.

This was the tenth item on his list of possible trades, and Jane could not hide her amusement as she asked "What will you offer for this trade? A lock of your hair?" She was teasing him, but in truth she was enjoying his optimism. It felt good to finally have hope.

"Perhaps I will go hunting tonight," said Gunther, pouting. "Although I believe your hair is of greater value to trade . . ." he added with a cheeky smile.

"I think not," replied Jane sternly, resisting the urge to touch her hair protectively. "No one would know who I am if I return home with a shaven head!"

"Oh, do not worry," Gunther reassured her, laughing. "I would be sure to tell them all who you are!"

Jane rolled her eyes and returned her attention to her rabbit, not bothering to respond.

"I have been thinking," said Gunther, after several moments of eating in silence.

"Oh dear," sighed Jane. It was an exchange they had had many times before, her response an old habit but usually a fitting one none-the-less.

Gunther continued as though she hadn't spoken. "Perhaps you should travel with the gypsies for a time? No doubt you would enjoy their company, not to mention their food, and a hot bath would not go astray either, surely—"

"Gunther," interrupted Jane, impatiently. "I have already told you I am not abandoning you!"

"You would not be abandoning me! I could keep pace at a safe distance, and you could gather information to help with our quest! No doubt you will learn more over time than I will gather in a single meeting with their wise man," said Gunther.

"You are getting ahead of yourself," said Jane, folding her arms over her chest. "We will see what happens in the morning. Perhaps the solution will be a simple one and we will be on the road home within the week," she continued, optimistically.

"Perhaps," said Gunther, guardedly. "That would be an unprecedented stroke of good fortune, the likes of which I have not enjoyed in some time."

"Hmm," said Jane, staring into the fire. The weariness of another day's travel was settling upon her and she yawned. "You never know your luck."

"No indeed," agreed Gunther pensively, his gaze also held by the dancing flames. "Sleep well, Jane."

"G'night, Gunther," she replied, stretching out on the ground and forgetting all about assigning watch shifts. She was asleep in moments.

* * *

Jane was startled awake by the sound of a bird passing overhead, and sat up quickly. She was surprised to realise that sunshine was filtering into the clearing, suggesting that she had slept all night.

"Morning!" called Gunther cheerfully from across the clearing. "Wonderful timing, Jane. I believe our visitors are on their way!"

Jane jumped to her feet, self-consciously patting her hair and yanking a twig from the tangles.

"Do not alarm yourself," said Gunther, noticing. "Their progress is slow to say the least. You have ample time to prepare."

"Good," said Jane, a tad grumpily. She did not enjoy early-morning visitors.

Glancing around she realised Gunther had packed their belongings and tidied up the camp. Even now he was folding up the blanket she had just thrown aside.

"Nervous?" she asked in amusement.

"Eager," Gunther replied. "With, perhaps, a small amount of apprehension," he added begrudgingly.

"All will be well," Jane reassured. "As long as I have time to tidy myself up."

"There is a small stream thirty paces that way," Gunther gestured into the woods. "Go ahead and take your time, they are truly moving more slowly than Sir Ivon after a big night at the tavern."

Laughing, Jane made her way into the woods, finding a small trail in the direction Gunther had indicated. She found the stream and sank to her knees beside it, grateful for the chance to clean up at last.


	9. Meetings and Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: References to menstruation ahead. Thanks to biscuitweevil for being a sounding board for me!

Jane was struggling not to stare. Never in her life had she seen someone so _old_.

Four strong looking young men had carried the ancient woman in on a sedan chair, lowering her gingerly onto the ground at the centre of the clearing. Thin wisps of white hair emerged from beneath her cloth turban, and her smile was toothless and gummy.

Jane glanced sideways at Gunther. His face wore a mixture of surprise and hope for a brief moment before he masked it with calm confidence.

"What a pleasure—" he began, before being cut off.

"You speak for Magnus Breech?"

This man was older than the other four, who Jane noted were all armed. He strode towards them purposefully, stopping in front of them and folding his arms over his broad chest. His brown hair was greying at the temples and he had the look of someone who carried a heavy burden and suffered for it.

"Uh, yes, I am his son, Gunther, and this is my comrade Jane. We are honoured that you agreed to meet with us."

"I am Manfri, I speak on behalf of my people."

He seemed impatient, and Jane noticed irritably that he addressed himself only to Gunther.

"You are the cursed one, then," Manfri said, eyeing Gunther with suspicion.

"Unfortunately, yes—"

"And you guarantee trade opportunities with your father in exchange for the wisdom of our elder?"

"I am certain that he would—"

"Why should we trust you? How can you prove what you say?"

Manfri's constant interruptions were beginning to grate on Jane's nerves, and on Gunther's too, she had no doubt. She bit down on her lower lip, fighting the urge to say something impolite. It seemed she was not the only one to take issue with the older man's lack of manners, as the elderly woman spoke up.

"Let the child _speak_ , Manfri," she said. Her voice was surprisingly strong, and her accent stronger. "Your boorishness shames us all. Please excuse my grandson," she continued, turning her attention to Gunther and Jane. "He has much occupying his mind, and forgets his manners. I am Vadoma." She gave another gummy smile, but her gaze was steady, despite her watery eyes, and she examined Jane closely. "Ah yes, the small red-headed girl from the castle. I remember you, although you were dressed more appropriately then." She raised a disapproving eyebrow.

Jane drew a calming breath before replying, choosing to ignore the last comment.

"You have been to Kippernia Castle before?" She asked.

"Oh yes, on our last visit to the village we entrusted something quite precious to your king," Vadoma turned her attention to Gunther then, eyeing him up and down. "Come closer, boy."

She beckoned him with a crooked finger and Gunther obliged, although Jane could see him bristle at being called 'boy'. When he was near enough for her to reach Vadoma grasped him by the chin, pulling his face down to hers.

"Hmm, I seem to recall you, too, Merchant's son. My, you have grown handsome –has he not?" This last part she addressed to Jane, wriggling her sparse eyebrows as she spoke.

Jane was not sure how to respond so she remained quiet, noticing that Manfri was pinching the bridge of his nose, evidently embarrassed by his grandmother. She wished she could see Gunther's face, but she would settle for teasing him mercilessly later.

"And the father –so ugly!" The old lady _tsk_ ed. "You take after your mother," she told Gunther matter-of-factly.

"Did you know my mother?" Gunther asked, his voice more eager than Jane had ever heard it.

"She was lovely to look upon, but we never spoke. Now as for you, my boy, let me look closer." Vadoma pulled Gunther even nearer, staring into his eyes while the young squire tried not to squirm in her grip.

There was a short silence while she examined Gunther, and Jane watched the rest of the party. If they were planning an ambush now would be the opportune time to strike. Nothing happened, however, and Vadoma released Gunther who stepped back, rubbing his chin.

"Hmm, my my _my_ ," she said. "What a silly boy you have been, so easily turned around." She tutted disapprovingly. "I see now why your young lady must chaperone you."

"What? No, I—" Gunther shook his head in frustration. "Can you help me?" he asked.

Jane couldn't help feeling like she was only hearing half of the conversation; that the old lady knew more about the situation than Jane herself.

"What an interesting question." Vadoma hummed quietly to herself, tapping a finger on the arm of her chair as she thought. Her eyes never left Gunther's as she mused, although it seemed to Jane like she was staring through him rather than at him.

"You must help yourself," she said at last, and then gestured for the young men to carry her away.

Jane blinked. _What?_

"What?" Asked Gunther, confused. "No, please, I need help!"

"Yes, and you must help yourself. I am sorry, dear boy. With your problem . . . there is no other way." Vadoma's chair rose into the air onto the shoulders of her bearers, who shuffled around in a slow circle to journey back the way they had come.

Gunther stood in place, shoulders slumped, staring at the ground.

"Wait!" Called Jane, fists clenched.

She was preparing to march after Vadoma and demand she do . . . _something_ when Gunther raised his hand.

"Jane, stop," he said flatly. He turned to Manfri, "We appreciate your time, thank you for meeting with us."

"Yes," said Manfri, turning to leave. He hesitated, before turning back to Gunther. "My grandmother may be blunt but she is seldom mistaken in these matters. I am sorry we could not help you further. We will be travelling along this road for a few more days if there is something else we can do."

"I thank you," said Gunther. His voice was calm but it lacked the energy he'd had earlier. "My friend here will welcome you to Kippernia should I be . . . absent for your arrival. I know the village will be pleased by your coming."

Manfri nodded tersely before returning to his grandmother's side. She had halted the progress of the chair while Manfri spoke, and now she called over her shoulder.

"Would the girl care to join us for the journey?"

Manfri looked at his grandmother in confusion, but Gunther's expression was calm when he turned to Jane.

"I will not blame you," he said quietly.

"No, thank you," replied Jane loudly enough for everyone in the clearing to hear, although her glare was directed at Gunther. "I will do whatever I can to help my friend."

"Very well," said Vadoma lightly. "We are easy enough to find, in any case."

They left the clearing then and made their way back onto the road, slowly disappearing from sight.

When they had gone Jane turned to Gunther angrily. " _What_ was that-?!" she began, but stopped when Gunther looked at her. He was smiling wryly, with a defeated look Jane had seen him wear in the sparring yard a time or two.

"You cannot give up!" She told him firmly. "We can keep trying; we will find someone else to ask. She cannot be the only ridiculously old person in the entire _country_!"

Gunther smiled again, and reached over to squeeze Jane's shoulder.

"I will be alright," he said, forcing lightness into his voice. "I have not given up, but that did not go at _all_ according to plan. We did not even get any spices," he sighed.

"Well I think it would be best if we rest here for another day," said Jane briskly, walking to the fire and stoking up the struggling embers. "The break will do us both good and we can plan our next move."

She looked at Gunther, prepared to argue until she had her way, but he merely shrugged.

"As you like. Perhaps I will go hunting tonight anyway."

He moved to sit at the base of a tree, plucking a blade of grass and rolling it between his thumb and finger. Jane decided to leave him to his thoughts for a time, happy to avoid an argument. She was even happier to avoid another day of walking. There was a dull ache in her lower back and she was not looking forward to returning to the road. She sat beside Gunther under the tree and looked up at the canopy, watching the leaves stirring in the breeze.

There was the _snap_ of a twig as Gunther broke one in half and began chewing the end, offering the other half to Jane, who accepted it.

They sat for some time, chewing their twigs as they mulled over their predicament.

"What did she mean, 'you must help yourself'?" Jane said eventually. "That is why you are on this quest in the first place!"

She looked at Gunther, who was calmly shredding a leaf into small pieces and letting them flutter to the ground.

"I do not understand you at _all_ Gunther Breech! How can you just sit there after she refused to help you?!" Jane exploded. "We should march down that road and make her tell us what she meant!"

Jane moved to get up but Gunther put a restraining hand on her arm.

"Please Jane," he said, not looking at her.

Jane sat back with a sigh.

"Tell me, Gunther. Do you know what she meant?"

"I think so, but I do not like it and neither will you." He blew irritably at an errant strand of hair hanging in his face.

"The werewolf who bit me . . . No, not that. The werewolf _I_ can become," he began, still gazing ahead. "It is a choice. If I choose it; the power, the strength, the speed, I will become it. I do not have to wait until the full moon. It nearly happened when you were hanging off that cliff, with the wolves." He turned to look at Jane briefly. "I do not remember that distinctly. I only know it lurks, and tempts me with abilities I cannot comprehend. Every day I must balance it against my self will, and each day the scale is weighted more in its favour. Come the full moon all choice is gone."

"I do not understand," said Jane again, more restrained now. "Was Vadoma telling you not to choose it? Because you have already made that choice! You do not want it—right, Gunther?" She tried to sound certain, but the way he spoke about the power . . . .

"No I do not, although if I could have the strength without the ears and tail I would be a powerful knight." Gunther gave a grim smile at the look on Jane's face. "Do not worry Jane, I promise I do not want it. I am tired of looking at people and seeing prey. My first instincts now are not _mine_ , Jane. Something truly evil exists within me and I have no say in it."

"But if you do not choose it, and refuse to choose it, will it not just go away?" Jane asked.

"It knows it only has to wait until the full moon. I cannot avoid moonlight for the rest of my life."

Gunther looked up at the canopy above, his head resting against the trunk of the tree. The rough bark clutched at his hair.

"No, either I choose the monster or I choose . . ." he trailed off.

"Gunther . . ." said Jane, trying very hard not to jump to awful conclusions. "There must be another choice. In fact I am sure of it, and we _will_ find it."

Gunther tipped his head to the side and gave Jane a small smile. "I am glad you are here Jane."

"I—uh, me too," Jane swallowed, suddenly warm. "What did she mean, about you being easily turned around?" She asked after a brief pause.

"Oh," Gunther snorted derisively. "She did not know what she was talking about."

Jane raised an eyebrow, a disbelieving look on her face. Gunther sighed.

"There was a girl, a woman, at the village when I went to kill the werewolf. She was pretty and she . . . took a _liking_ to me, I suppose," he shrugged. "She was nice at first, but then she started talking about how she hated the village, about us running away together, odd things like that. I should have been paying more attention but I was so stupidly focused on finding a monster, I could not see . . . Anyway, I said she could come back to Kippernium with me when I was done but that was not what she wanted. She wanted much more."

"She was the werewolf?" Jane guessed.

"Mmm, and she wanted me to join her. She wanted us to live like animals. She hunted and killed people for _fun_ , Jane! I still cannot believe I did not see it was her. She chose the monster, and until she transformed and bit me I did not even know it." He rubbed at his eyes, clearly still frustrated by his perceived failure. "I tried reasoning with her, to convince her to hold onto her humanity, but I was wasting my breath. She— _it_ kept talking about waiting for someone strong, someone like me to join her. She said that our offspring would be true werewolves and nothing would stop our pack. So when she began to change again I shot her. I killed her."

"You did the right thing," said Jane, firmly. "You stopped her from harming anyone else."

"How many more might I have saved if I had not been so blind?"

"You are not responsible for the lives she took; only she can answer for that. You said yourself it is a choice," Jane reminded him.

"I was rather slow at figuring out what the bite truly meant, too," said Gunther with a self-depreciating smile. "It did not pain me much, and I felt fine when I rode out of the village. I thought my horse was misbehaving because of the corpse, but then I began to realise there was another . . . _something_ in my head with me." He shuddered.

There was a brief silence, before Jane remembered something else that had been troubling her.

"So when you made that comment about never trusting a woman . . . " she began.

"Oh, do not worry, Jane. I was in a particularly bad mood," said Gunther. "Besides," he continued easily. "I do not think of you that way."

Jane paused, unsure how to take that. Was it a compliment? A small part of her seemed to be saying _ouch_ , but she pushed it aside in frustration.

"So, what now?" She asked. "We need a new plan."

"We keep walking, I suppose," Gunther shrugged. "But I like your idea about resting today."

He stretched his legs out, making himself more comfortable before closing his eyes.

Jane couldn't help smiling. Gunther had always been able to fall asleep anywhere. She, on the other hand, had too much to think about. She sat quietly, listening to his even breathing, and tried to come up with a new strategy.

* * *

The remainder of the day passed quickly as the squires rested, enjoying the respite from the constant walking they had been doing for the past however many weeks. Jane had lost track, the monotony of endless days on the road interfering with her sense of time.

This day stood out; a marked improvement in many ways. Relaxing, talking, planning and unwinding despite their unchanged situation. Even Gunther had benefited, although his morning meeting had not gone as planned.

He was building up the fire as dusk settled, calmly moving around their camp in a civilised manner, his entire demeanour much improved. The messy scruff on his cheeks was entirely foreign to Jane compared to his usual clean-shaven look, but she still saw more of Gunther in him today than she had in quite a while.

"What?" He asked suddenly, and Jane realised she had been caught staring.

"Oh, um . . ." Thinking quickly, Jane asked "Do you think it was the fluff on your face that Vadoma found most attractive? Or is her failing eyesight to blame?"

Raising a hand to his face and realising just how hairy it was, Gunther smirked. "No doubt my _beard_ is irresistible to most women, but I wouldn't expect you to understand, Jane."

There it was again; that implication that he saw her as . . . _What?_ Jane asked herself. _Not a woman?_ She had to admit that bothered her, but she couldn't put a finger on why. She had spent her entire adolescence wanting Gunther to see her as an equal and now it seemed he did, almost too much.

"You are right," she said instead. "I really do not see the appeal. You look like an—" She stopped herself just in time. _An animal_ , she had almost said. "A pauper," she finished weakly. Gunther would definitely take that as an insult, Jane knew.

"Now I am going to go wash at the creek before it is dark," she said, before marching toward the path out of the clearing.

Ooooo

Rolled up in her blanket near the fire, Jane stirred in her sleep. The ground underneath was hard, and a small stone she had missed when preparing her bed was digging into her ribs. The smoke from the fire lingered in the clearing, without a breeze to carry it away. Winged insects hovered in the air as well, and one buzzed by her ear.

But none of this was responsible for waking Jane. In fact it was a sharp pain in her gut, frustratingly familiar. It had faded before she was fully awake and Jane hoped she had imagined it, but unfortunately it came again. Jane rolled over with a groan, reaching for her pack. She really _had_ lost track of the days.

Peering around the campfire Jane realised that Gunther was still gone, off hunting as promised. She thanked the gods for small mercies before reaching into her pack.

In some ways perhaps it would be good if Gunther's view of her was accurate, and she wasn't really a woman, Jane mused as the sharp pain came once more.

* * *

When Jane woke again it was to the sound of agony, but it was not her own. She bolted upright, struggling to free her arms from her blanket and searching for the small knife she always kept beside her as she slept.

The noise came again, a groan from across the clearing. Jane looked around, her eyes adjusting to the early morning light.

"Gunther?" She gasped, finally breaking free of her blanket and moving towards her comrade, who was crumpled under a tree at the edge of their camp. "Are you injured?"

"Stop!" He yelled, his voice riddled with pain. "Stay away!"

Jane stopped short, knife in her hand although she didn't realise she held it.

"I do not understand, Gunther! Let me help you!" She took another step, but stopped again as he shouted at her.

"Stop! You must stay away from me!" His hands were clutching at the sides of his head as he knelt on the ground, shaking.

"What is _happening_?!" Jane yelled back, rooted in place. "Let me help!" It was not the full moon, she knew. She had not been so reckless as to lose track of that.

Gunther had dropped one hand to grab at the bark of the tree he huddled under, as though anchoring himself to it. His other hand remained tangled in his hair, and he was muttering something over and over. Straining to hear, Jane was confused to hear her own name.

"Jane Jane Jane Jane Jane . . . " Again and again like a prayer, or perhaps a curse.

"Let me help you," Jane pleaded again. "What can I do? What do you need?"

"Jane, Jane go! Go Jane, please, Jane, _oh, Jane_ ," he moaned, and it wasn't in pain, but something else entirely, and the hair stood up on the back of Jane's neck.

"What—why? I will not-!"

"JANE GO AWAY!" Gunther roared at her then, finally lifting his head to look at her.

Jane stepped back in spite of herself, true fear prickling all over her body. Her hand tightened on the hilt of her knife, sweat forming on her palms.

Gunther was not himself. Physically human, but there was a monster behind his eyes, snarling through his mouth and fighting against him.

"Gods Jane," he moaned again. "You are – _oh, your smell_. I need you, I need you, I _need_ you . . . to . . . go."

Realisation hit Jane in a dizzying, nauseating wave.

"Oh _sard_ ," she cursed, heat rushing to her cheeks. "Oh, _no_."

Horror, humiliation and sheer terror gripped her as she rushed to gather up her pack and sword, her blanket lying forgotten as she left the clearing. Gunther held tightly to his tree, still muttering.

"Run, run, Jane _RUN_!" Was the last thing Jane heard, and then she ran.


	10. Homesickness and Horror

Jane Turnkey, sixteen years old, had never been further from home.

Oh, she had _travelled_ further in the blink of an eye, high in the sky and safe on the back of her Dragon, and home again for dinner.

But she had never been further from her home, from the safety and routine of the castle walls, where everyone knew their role and worked hard to fulfil it.

She missed her parents, and she wasn't even embarrassed to admit it to herself. Were they worried about her? Did her father watch for her return each evening as he had when she was younger? Perhaps as her mother spent her days caring for the young princess she thought about her own daughter, concerned for her safety.

What she wouldn't give to run into their waiting arms, and listen to her mother's admonishments while her father smiled affectionately down at her.

She missed her friends; the sound of Smithy in his forge while she practiced her archery; gentle Rake in his garden, talking to his plants while he worked; Pepper, enveloped by the warmth of her kitchen and exuding it wherever she went; Jester's bad jokes and good advice.

She missed joining them for dinner, the scent of roses drifting over the table outside the kitchen as they gathered to eat, talk and laugh. They would compare notes on the events of the day, Jester moaning about the injustices of the world after a day spent tutoring the Prince. Rake would fret about slugs and grubs, buds and seedlings. Smithy, saving up the table scraps for Pig, would listen to the banter of his friends, interjecting occasionally. Pepper would hover from person to person, making sure they had all eaten enough, before dishing up another serve regardless.

She would be back at work already now, preparing breakfast for the whole castle. Sir Theodore and Sir Ivon would eat in their quarters before beginning their duties for the day. No doubt their workload had increased in their squires' extended absence. Jane wished she could help them.

She would have loved to return home in that moment, into the warm predictability of castle life, where nothing truly terrible happened. Where all transgressions, no matter how awful they seemed in the moment, were eventually forgiven. Where the residents all cared for one another, and truly wished to see Jane succeed. She missed that.

But more than anything she missed Dragon, her best friend, with his noise and bluster and sensitive heart. Not to mention his over-protective streak one thousand paces wide. She had nothing to fear when Dragon was with her.

She was frightened now, and she _hated_ it.

She had stopped running some time ago, sinking to the ground on shaking legs as adrenaline coursed through her body. Listening carefully, she had scarcely dared to breathe until she was sure she was alone.

She had swapped her small knife for the silver arrow as she ran, and she stared at it now as it glinted in the dim morning light.

Her stomach cramped painfully and tears blurred her vision. Were they from pain, fear or shame? Jane could not be sure but she let them come, knowing better than to fight against them.

 _How could I have been so thoughtless?_ Jane berated herself. _But how could I have_ known _? Of all the stupid things . . . ._ She buried her hot face in her hands.

"Oh, Gunther," she whispered.

She missed him too, the Gunther she knew. He might be smug and annoying, that squire Gunther of Kippernia Castle, but at least he was _himself_. Familiar, predictable and easily handled, he was every bit as much a part of her life at the castle as any of the residents.

But _this_ Gunther was so different. She couldn't predict him, and she did not know what to think of him now. The way he had reacted to her; the hunger in his eyes in the brief moment he had dared to look at her, had frightened Jane. There was no pretending otherwise, humiliating as it was Jane had lost her nerve.

"Well," she said, drawing in a deep breath and wiping her cheeks. "I cannot go back."

It was abundantly clear that she must give Gunther his space for a few days, and Jane hoped that when the time came she would be able to face him again without willing the ground to swallow her up.

"And I cannot go home." As tempting as it was, she would not entertain the idea. She was on a quest, in the name of her King and for the sake of her comrade, and she _would_ see it through.

"So I am alone, then." This was new territory for Jane. She had always had someone to fall back on, even if she often refused their help. Dragon, Sir Theodore, her friends and family, Gunther . . .

"And Gunther is alone too. But worse than that, he is _not_ alone at all."

She tapped the arrow lightly against her leg as she thought, until the first piercing call of a bird startled her to her feet. She turned to look down the road, back in the direction she had come from.

"I will keep my promises, Gunther Breech," she said clearly. "So you keep yours."

She drew her knife out again and turned to the nearest tree, carving a message into the bark. Her first mark was the rune for dragon, and then beneath that an arrow.

"I will come find you as soon as I can . . ." _Until then I_ will _be strong, and protect those nearby._

Returning the knife to her belt and tucking the arrow into her pack, she untangled her sword from the straps and buckled it in place on her back. Brushing off her clothes and smoothing her hair, she stepped back onto the road and began walking.

The cool, still air of the early morning carried the scents of the trees and wild herbs as a million dust particles danced in the beams of light filtering through the canopy above.

It was a new day, and Jane would make the best of things. Jane always did.

If she could not stand beside Gunther and help him, perhaps she could help from a distance instead.

When she walked into the gypsy camp some half hour later she was somehow unsurprised to find Vadoma sitting outside her caravan, waiting patiently.

"You must have had a long night," said the old woman, as though remarking on the weather. "Come and rest for a while."

Jane thought that sounded wonderful.

* * *

Gunther remained in the clearing, holding fast to his tree until the sound of Jane's footfalls had faded entirely from his hearing. Gradually, as he lost track of her overwhelming, intoxicating presence, some semblance of his own self came back.

He let go then, leaving indentations in the bark as he flopped to the ground, every muscle in his body quivering. Sheer exhaustion washed over him, his bones aching as though he had just fought the fiercest battle of his life. In many ways he had.

Sunlight shot down at him from above and he turned his head away, trying to close it out.

"What have I _done_?" He moaned, his voice thick with shame.

He had lost his only remaining hope; had driven her away from him and he didn't even know why.

The sense of her had hit him the moment he walked into the clearing, more palpable than the very walls of Kippernia castle, and he had been driven instantly mad with hunger.

He had fought against it with everything he had in him, ensuring her escape. He could not allow anything to happen to her, not to Jane. He had sworn it to her.

He was paying for it now, though, he knew. If he had feasted at the Beast's urging he would be feeling strong, unstoppable . . . _unhuman_. But he could not do that, he had _promised_ . . . and so instead he lay on the ground, a sack made of skin filled with bones and blood, barely able to move.

 _Punishment_ , said the voice in his head.

Gunther merely grunted.

A faint scent of Jane lingered in the clearing still, and Gunther licked his lips, appetite unsated.

This was not a hunger he had known before. Not when she had pricked her finger, nor when she had turned her head to wipe the sweat from her neck, the delicate flesh of her throat fully exposed. Not when he had heard her disrobing to wash in the creek, his ears picking up the whisper of fabric over skin against his will.

No, this was something else entirely, a wanting of more than the taste of her insides, more than flesh and organs. This was the want of . . . a mate.

Gunther groaned again. He wanted her in the way the woman in the village had wanted him; to run with him, to hunt with him, to . . . .

"Not Jane," Gunther told the Beast. "You will not take her."

 _You kept her from me,_ was the reply. _Can you not see what an ideal mate she will be?_

"Jane is _no one's_ ideal mate," he insisted. "She is stubborn as a mule and half a man besides."

But her scent lingered still, weakening his resolve. Gunther forced himself onto his feet, staggering over to collect his gear before he made his way out of the clearing and onto the road.

He had thought Jane would have headed for home, but her tracks travelled further into the woods. She had been running _away_ , after all, not to.

Her footprints burned against the dirt like signal fires, urging him to follow. Gunther knew his strength would return in an instant should he choose to obey. Instead, he turned and stumbled away from the road, deeper into the darkness of the trees.


	11. Travellers and Torture

Laughter rang through the camp as several young men practiced their tumbling. They had been working on their routine every evening and Jane was impressed by their quick progress, their practiced bodies adapting to the new moves.

She turned back to her bowl of stew, noticing that the mushrooms she had helped to gather that morning were included in the meal. Well prepared, seasoned food had yet to lose its novelty to Jane after so long on the road and she ate enthusiastically.

She sat with her legs crossed, surrounded by the travellers as they gathered around the fire. A little boy stood nearby, practicing his juggling. Jane lowered her bowl to clap when he successfully recaptured his balls, and the young juggler bowed low, reminding her of Jester.

Jane smiled fondly as she thought of her friend, but her pangs of homesickness had subsided.

She was feeling much refreshed after her time with the travelling players, and not just due to the good food.

Upon her arrival she had been ushered into a caravan and fussed over by several of Vadoma's granddaughters. A herbal tea was prepared for her which helped to ease her pain, her filthy travelling clothes were removed and she had been bundled into a bed. Jane was drowsy by then, perhaps another effect of the tea, or maybe just the result of her difficult night. Either way she was soon sleeping soundly, the gentle bouncing of the caravan as it travelled down the road rocking her like a babe in a cradle.

She woke some hours later to find a pile of clean clothing had been left for her, and she eyed it with distaste. Chemise, bloomers, bodice and skirts, and no leggings to be seen. Sighing, Jane got dressed.

 _At least the colours are nice,_ she consoled herself.

The chemise was yellow, bodice a lovely rich orange and the outer skirt was a shade of green that reminded her instantly of Dragon. She was lacing up the front of the bodice, her hands out of practice at the task, when the caravan door opened.

"I thought I heard you moving about," said one of the kindly women from earlier, ducking through the doorway. She had the same accent as Vadoma, and looked around the same age as Jane's mother.

"You look rested," she said, collecting a green scarf from a hook and using it to tie Jane's hair back. "There now," she said, eyeing Jane from head to toe. "Much better."

"Er, thank you," said Jane, raising a hand to her hair.

"I am sure I can find you some jewellery, too," the woman continued, and Jane noticed the collection of metal circlets jangling on both of her arms.

"Oh, no, that is not necessary, really!" She insisted. "I should really go and talk to, uh, your grandmother?" She guessed.

"Oh, yes, she was asking after you," the woman remembered suddenly, and ushered Jane out the door. "Just pop down there, dear, and make your way to the front." She gestured at the steps leading from the back of the caravan towards the ground.

"Thank you!" said Jane again, gathering her skirts as best she could to climb down from the moving platform. She jumped the remaining distance to the ground and quickly began walking between the slow moving caravans, her eyes widening as she took in the colour and noise around her.

The vans were pulled by huge horses with glossy coats in black and white patches, solid blacks and greys. The vans themselves were brightly coloured with all sorts of wares hanging outside, from pots and pans, to puppets, musical instruments, cured meats and dried herbs. Some of the wagons had goats tied up to trail along beside them, and Jane thought she could even hear the cackling of chickens somewhere.

The wagons were driven by men and women in bright, free-flowing clothes. Some had entire families perched on the seats, others drove alone. The men all wore beards, moustaches or both, and jewellery was a popular adornment for everyone.

As she moved towards the front of the procession she could see more horses being ridden, and people on foot, some talking amongst themselves, others doing somersaults and cartwheels along the road. There were children running around and practicing tricks, although the younger ones sat at the front of the wagons and stared at Jane as she passed. She gave them a friendly smile and a wave, and some smiled back, while others hid behind their hands.

"There you are," called a familiar voice as Jane reached the front caravan, and she looked up to see Vadoma perched on the seat beside Manfri. "Come up here, child," said Vadoma, patting the space on the seat beside her.

Gathering her skirts once again, Jane climbed awkwardly up to join them.

"Your clothes will be returned to you when they are clean," said Vadoma, amusement in her watery gaze. "Although I think you look quite well in those ones."

Manfri muttered something under his breath about decency which Jane chose to ignore as she sat down.

"I thank you both for your kindness," she said instead. "Although I fear I must trouble you further. My partner Gunther needs . . . some time to himself. May I travel with you for a few days? I will do all I can not to be a burden—"

"Nonsense," Vadoma cut her off. "You are a welcome guest. How much of a burden can one more be to a group such as ours?" She waved a hand dismissively.

Manfri _huffed_ beside her but remained silent, and Jane sensed he was used to things going his grandmother's way.

"Besides, we would never turn down the company of a trained knight when travelling in these dangerous woods. Who knows what evil lurks out there." Vadoma elbowed Manfri as she spoke; clearly tormenting him about the presence of a female knight in his troop, but Jane noticed the old woman's gaze turned sharply towards her with the last sentence.

"Mmm," Jane replied evenly, fixing her eyes on the road ahead. She realised with a start that they were nearing the clearing where she and Gunther had spent the last two nights, and she gripped the edge of her seat.

"As you can see we are quite a large group," said Vadoma conversationally. "We have many scouts and outriders who travel ahead of us, making sure we can pass in safety. We have scouts behind us, too. There are so many of us but we travel unharmed from place to place." She patted Jane's hand. "You should relax and enjoy your time with us."

The collection of caravans rumbled on slowly, and nothing untoward happened. No shouts of alarm from the road ahead, or sudden screams. No outbreak of wildly panicking horses.

Jane released her grip on the bench and turned to Vadoma.

"Thank you, but I would like to help where I am able. Do you know where my pack is?" She asked, trying to keep her tone light.

"Hmm, I believe a bed has been made for you with some of my granddaughters. No doubt your belongings are waiting for you there. If you ask for Kezia and Rose you will soon find your way."

Jane thanked her again before making her way to the ground once more, setting off in search of her pack, and more specifically a certain arrow.

* * *

Jane had woken the next morning to the sound of Kezia and Rose arguing. She was quickly learning that they argued a lot, although about what Jane had no idea. They spoke in their own language, but their tone of voice was almost constantly combative. They woke early to milk the goats, so Jane woke early too, and there was no going back to sleep.

She dressed quickly in the clothes she had been given the previous day, waiting until the two girls had left before strapping the silver arrow to her thigh. The one benefit she had found to wearing skirts was that they hid a great deal.

Venturing outside she had found one of the older ladies, Sabina, brewer of the wonderful tea, who invited her to join a small foraging party. They had wandered into the woods, searching for herbs, mushrooms and other treasures that Jane had never considered before.

Things Jane would normally have stepped on without notice were gathered carefully, their value explained by the patient herbalist, before being tucked away in her basket.

Watching vigilantly the squire began to learn the difference between good mushrooms and bad, medicinal plants, edible plants and poisonous ones.

"Do you know much about curses?" She asked conversationally as they clipped sprigs of wild thyme.

Sabina glanced at her oddly for a moment, before recollection dawned on her face. "Oh, your friend with the horse problem, yes?"

Jane nodded encouragingly.

"If you have a sore tooth, a sore head, aching joints I can help you, but curses? No, no, I stay away from those." Sabina brushed dirt from her skirt as she stood, collecting her basket. "Grandmother knows a great deal, however. Over there looks perfect for mushrooms," she ended the conversation by gesturing to a damp shady area, and Jane obediently went to check.

She was focusing so closely on the ground in her search, wandering a small distance from the others as they slowly made their way back to the camp, that she almost missed the signal carved into the bark of a tree beside the road.

The rune for dragon. Jane traced it briefly with her fingers, before hearing her name being called by her companions.

_Gunther._

"Stay strong," she said sternly to the tree, before turning and running to rejoin the others.

* * *

A routine had quickly formed with the days that followed. Awakening early to the sound of her roommates' arguments, Jane would dress and hurry out to join the foraging party, surveying both the ground for food and the trees for signs. She had found the runes easily the first few days, sometimes twice, carved at random into trees bordering the road. Then she would return to help pack up the camp, and the wagons would be rumbling down the road well before mid-morning.

They would travel until shortly before dusk, when Manfri would signal a halt and camp set-up began again.

The nights were filled with good food, the chatter of people, music and an enveloping sense of community that Jane had come to appreciate.

She was even more grateful this evening as she had had a warm bath, and, dressed in her own clothes, was feeling ready for anything.

This was a good thing, she knew, as it was time for her to make her way back to Gunther.

This morning she had not been able to find his signal anywhere, which had been unsettling. This evening she had found one carved near the edge of the camp, but it had been different. The dragon rune was still there, but beneath that, he had carved an arrow.

The animals had been acting skittish tonight and although their handlers could not figure out why, Jane had her suspicions.

Gunther had wanted to make sure she saw his message, and had taken a risk to ensure it, which meant Jane needed to go.

"I see you have gathered your belongings. You are leaving us, then?"

She was shaken from her thoughts by Vadoma, who sat nearby in her chair, enjoying her own bowl of stew.

" _My friend's curse –is there truly nothing I can do to help him?" Jane had asked on her third night in the camp._

" _I suspect you have done a great deal for him already," Vadoma had replied. "But sadly this is his choice to make, and his alone."_

" _But what is the choice? I do not understand," Jane had tried to contain her frustration._

" _If he is told the answer then he loses the choice, and all hope is lost," Vadoma had replied, before patting Jane's hand. "I wish it were a simple matter, my dear, but life seldom is."_

Jane stood from her cross-legged position on the ground and moved closer to the older woman. It seemed every one of the travellers called her 'Grandmother' regardless of relation, and even Jane had begun to do so, as nothing else seemed fitting.

"I think I must go tonight, Grandmother."

"Are you sure? Have you not enjoyed our company?"

"Time moves more quickly than your caravans, and I cannot stay here forever. Gunther needs me, I am sure of it." Jane's resolve strengthened as she spoke, despite the rather manipulative question.

"And are you sure you will be able to help him? Or is it that arrow you carry everywhere that he needs?"

Jane supposed she was meant to be surprised, but she was not. She had noticed that Vadoma did a lot of watching, that small children and adults alike enjoyed talking to her and that the scouts often visited her first on their return to camp, even before presenting themselves to Manfri. Jane suspected that a good deal of her _knowing_ came from listening and observing.

"I hope not," she said, her voice low. "He is my friend."

"Men are a terrible burden," Vadoma told her, sighing wearily. "I have had three husbands and I had to do all of their thinking for them. They do such stupid things when we leave them to their own devices for too long. It is probably wise for you to rejoin yours."

"He is not—" Jane cut herself off, sighing. Arguing with Vadoma was a waste of time. "We will both greet you when you arrive at the castle," she said instead, and bent to give the ancient woman a kiss on the cheek.

"You will find us easily should you needs us," came the reply. "Go in safety, girl Knight."

* * *

Gunther was being allowed to live, and he knew it.

He was allowed just enough energy to survive, just enough sleep to be woken by nightmares, again and again, just enough food to make him hungry for more.

And he was never granted a second of peace.

_I thought you were a proud warrior, but you crawl in the dirt like a worm._

It was true, right now; he lay in the dirt, staring vacantly at a bug making its way along the ground. Bugs did not fear him, what more could he do to them than any other man or beast?

He watched the bug and listened to the distant clatter of wheels and hooves from the slow-moving convoy that harboured Jane.

Keeping up with the travellers had been easy, he had been granted short bursts of energy each evening to ensure they did not move far from his reach. He had even been allowed to go back and check his messages to Jane, before moving ahead to carve fresh ones further along the road.

He could always tell which ones she had found, as she had developed the habit of touching his marks on the trees, and her scent remained for him to find. The smell of home, and refuge, and Jane.

_Our Jane, little worm._

Gunther snorted and closed his eyes. This again.

"You would not say that if you knew her," he muttered. They had had this conversation a thousand times and he knew he was wasting his breath, but they would have it again.

_I do know her._

"Ha." It was not a laugh, not even a wheeze, merely a statement.

_I know her as you know her, worm. Her strength, her skill, she is your equal; your match._

"No, not my equal, you flea-bitten mongrel." The insult was worth the instant flash of pain in his head.

_She will be your equal when I am done with her, little worm._

"You have rocks for brains, and I am hungry."

 _There are some mushrooms just there,_ came the taunting reply.

Gunther looked as directed at the patch of shiny, bronze-capped fungi, but he knew better than to try that again. He had eaten some, defiantly, yesterday. What could happen, after all? He could not die unless the mushrooms were cast from silver.

It turned out he could still get very, very sick.

Now he lay on the ground, absolutely fetid with the stench of his own vomit, arguing with the voice in his head.

_How the mighty have fallen, worm._

For once Gunther could not disagree, so he merely grunted.

 _I_ will _have her, you know._

"Will not, mongrel."

_The full moon is coming, little worm. You cannot stop me then. Perhaps I will let you watch while I take her._

Gunther moaned, curling into a ball.

" _Why_? Why _her_? She is nothing special, believe me. Just a stubborn, bone-headed thorn in my side."

 _Hmmm,_ rumbled the voice. _Perhaps I will just eat her, then. I will keep her alive while I enjoy her tender flesh. I can do that for quite a while, you know._

Gunther knew.

_She will scream at first, your name no doubt, until her strength leaves her. After that she will lie there bleeding and listen as I chew on her sinews, drink her blood, crunch her bones. When I am done with her—she will be dead by then—I will use her bones to pick my teeth, and then I will wake you up so you can see how she died._

If there was anything left in him Gunther would have retched. "She has done nothing to harm you! She does not deserve that!"

_So the worm cares about her after all._

"What difference does it make? Whether I care or not you want to destroy her!" He was sobbing now, wretched past the point of pride.

_She does not have to be destroyed. She can join us._

"That _would_ destroy her."

_It would not be so bad. I think you would come to enjoy her. I will help you realise that she is a woman._

Gunther's hand fisted in the dirt, and he pressed it against his forehead in frustration.

" _God's blood_ you are a stupid dog," he hissed. "I know what she is!"

_And what is that, worm?_

"Sixteen! She is _sixteen_ , a girl! With her own plans that include neither you _nor_ me! She is to be a knight and travel the world where she will meet a thousand men better than I."

 _So you_ do _desire her._

"Why do you _care_? What does it _matter_ to you? It makes no difference, even if I were to tell you that she is _not_ my equal; she is my superior in every way! She has ruined me completely! I cannot look at a maiden in a dress when I know a goddess in maille!" He was yelling now, wasting his limited strength on this stupid argument. Again. "What would it change? You want to take her and make a monster of her, and I am telling you I _will not allow it_!"

Silence descended, briefly, blessedly, until . . . .

"Not that I am saying any of that is actually true." Apparently there was still some pride left after all.

The monster in his mind laughed. _Little worm, how will you stop me?_

Gunther shuddered. This was where these conversations always ended up. Reminding him that he was quickly running out of time before all choice was gone.

It was a lot like talking to his father. Gunther wondered if the old man had noticed his absence, beyond the inconvenience of losing his best labourer. Likely not.

The Merchant had put him in situations such as these before, where it seemed like there was no way for Gunther to win. Lower stakes, of course, but the agony of searching for an honourable way out and not finding one held a familiar sting.

He needed Jane. He had no way of fixing this without her, but in bringing her to him he would endanger her. It was selfish and wrong, but he was a Breech, and nothing if not his father's son.

Gunther reached for his pack and pulled out a blanket. Jane's blanket. She had left it behind when she ran from him, and he had gathered it up when making his own escape from the clearing.

It still smelled of her and he wrapped himself in it, inhaling deeply.

He would go to the camp tonight and leave her a message. The beast would let him do it.

After all, it wanted her too.


	12. Bravery and Birdsong

Jane followed the trail Gunther had left for her, optimism growing with every step. He was obviously in control of himself, if the neat little arrows were any indication.

It was a bright night, not full moon yet of course, but the trees were thinner in this part of the woods and the light filtered through easily. The air was mild, and although Jane wore the cloak Vadoma had pressed upon her she was far from cold.

The silver arrow was strapped to her thigh again, but Jane was sure she would not be needing it. She had not been able to learn much to help him during her time in the camp, but perhaps Gunther had figured out what the mysterious solution was, and the arrow would never be required again.

She hoped so.

Apart from the occasional chirp of a cricket the woods were still and quiet, in stark contrast to the Travellers' camp. Jane hummed tunelessly to herself as she walked, trying to break the oppressive silence.

Old leaves crunched beneath her feet as she stepped over roots and around trees, picking her way along Gunther's trail. He had obviously done his best to keep her path free of too many obstructions, and the walk was quite easy all things considered.

"Everything will be fine, Jane," she told herself, although by now even the crickets had stopped their song.

She strode on determinedly, searching for the arrows in the trees and following them as the moon rose higher overhead.

Eventually she stepped into a narrow clearing, bordered on one side by a small lake. Moonlight flickered across the gently rippling surface, bright beams piercing the night like knives.

There was a giant oak tree at the far end of the space, and Gunther sat huddled underneath.

All of Jane's optimism shattered in the instant she laid eyes on him, the shards piercing her skin with pin pricks of fear.

Even across the distance between them she could see he was a mess. His hair matted, eyes sunken in hollow cheeks and filthy almost past the point of recognition.

"Gunther?" She called out, hoping desperately that he __was__ who she was talking to.

"Jane," he replied, although the very act of speaking seemed to cost him something. "Are you well?"

"Never mind me," she shot back. "You look a mess! What has happened to you?"

"My guest," he said, gesturing vaguely at his head as though that explained everything.

Jane supposed in a way it did.

"We should get moving," she said, swallowing. "Get you some help."

She began moving towards him but stopped quickly when he held up a hand.

"Wait, wait." He sat back against the tree, his movements limited. "Did you bring the arrow?"

"Of course, but . . ."

"Good, that is good, Jane." He said, looking at her and was that . . . a smile?

"Gunther, what is happening to you?" She asked, truly confused. Had he lost his mind? __Was__ he even Gunther anymore?

"Please hold it, Jane, I would like to see it," he replied.

"What?"

"The arrow, please Jane," He was still looking at her, still smiling, and Jane was still confused.

"I do not understand, Gunther," she said, un-strapping the arrow from her thigh and drawing it out from under her cloak. She held it in front of her and moonlight gleamed across it. "You need to tell me what is happening."

"You look well, Jane. Rested. That is good."

He was saying her name a lot, Jane noticed. It reminded her of another night, another clearing, but this time it seemed like her presence was helping him in some way. Regardless, she shivered in the still air.

Gunther continued. "Do you recall when Pepper told everyone that we were courting? How we fought for hours that night?"

"Er, yes," said Jane, surprised by the sudden reference to the past.

"I had forgotten all about it, until I was telling my friend here," he gestured towards his head again. "About how strong you are, how stubborn. Then I remembered; I fought too. I was telling him how infuriating you are, for __days__ now, Jane, I have been telling him so many stories about your stubbornness, trying to make him see that you will not do as he wants, and it reminded me of all the times __I__ have been stubborn too."

"What he wants?" Asked Jane, alarmed. "What does it want with me?"

"He thinks you will join him and we will live like wild animals. Always on the hunt. But I have told him you are too pig-headed for that."

"I certainly am," she said, trying to keep her tone even. "And so are you!" She added sternly.

Gunther laughed then, an actual, genuine laugh, at the look on her face.

"The night of the annual ball, when I had been picking flowers and you trounced me at staves, do you remember?"

"Flowers for your lady friend, yes, I remember," said Jane. He had been as much a mystery to her on that night as he had ever been. Until now.

"I did not have a lady friend, in truth," he admitted. "I was picking them for . . . well. I practiced my footwork madly after that, when no one was watching. And while I was unloading my father's ships. No doubt his sailors thought me mad." He sighed. "Gods, if I had known how simple my life was then."

"Not always simple," Jane reminded him gently. "You had your share of challenges to overcome."

"None come to mind that __quite__ compete with my present conundrum, but perhaps they helped me prepare," he said as he rose to his feet, slowly and painfully, using the tree for support. "This beast thinks he has me all figured out, you see," he grunted, steadying himself. "But there is something I did not tell him, despite all of his poking and prodding."

Jane could see that standing and talking were both taking a great deal of effort, and although she wanted to order him to save his strength it seemed very important to Gunther to be able to tell her this.

"I realised that I have been keeping up with you, these past years. That if you are strong then I must be strong, too. If you are stubborn, I have to be stubborn. That when we fight, I always, __always__ have more strength than I expect. You push me to my limits and then beyond them, as you have every day since we began training together, teaching me to be a little more like you. And it has made a better man of me than I ever thought it possible to become."

Jane dropped her hands to her sides, totally bewildered. Gunther was __complimenting__ her now? Perhaps he had been fully possessed after all.

"Have you figured out the choice you must make?" She asked at length. "Do you have the answer to fix . . . this?" Now it was her turn to gesture vaguely at him.

Gunther smiled, something slightly wild in his expression as he thought about her question. "Yes, I suppose I have. So hold that arrow for me, Jane, and I will be a better man one more time."

"Gunther . . . ."

"I am sorry, Jane, there is more to say but time is short. I left a note for you with my things. I am glad it is you here with me, now. But then, it is always you and your fire, burning a clear path out of the dark places for sorry old Gunther Breech." His smile was sadder now, almost apologetic.

"Stop speaking this way!" Jane snapped, fighting the panic that was rising in her gut and channelling it into anger instead. "We can fix this, I know we can, so do not go falling on your sword now!"

"Yes, we __can__ fix this, Jane, you are right," Gunther stepped away from the tree, moving out from the shadows and into the cool blue light of the moon. "Because I am stubborn, and I am strong, and __I am still in control__."

He began walking towards her then, his steps awkward and halting and his face a mask of pain as his hands rose to clutch at the sides of his head.

"I am still in control," he repeated through gritted teeth, staggering towards Jane.

She stood rooted in place as she watched him draw nearer, her breaths coming quickly and her grip on the arrow tightening.

"I am in control," Gunther gasped, wincing in agony but not breaking his momentum. He was trembling, whether from fear or exhaustion or a combination of both Jane could not say.

He was almost unrecognisable, this pitiable wretch, hunched and stumbling as pain made him clumsy. Where was the prideful Gunther who had tormented her youth? What had become of the boy who would never admit weakness; who sulked like a whipped pup after defeat?

And yet something lingered in every painful step, in every repetition of his mantra. Despite his bedraggled appearance, his obvious need for a decent feed and several days of sleep, despite having been denied these things which Jane knew he valued so highly, Gunther Breech was gathering his tattered pride around him like armour. He was still, __still__ refusing to be beaten; still that arrogant boy who never did learn how to go down gracefully.

It was in that instant that Jane made her choice.

"Yes, Gunther. In control and strong, and the stubbornest, most bog-headed idiot I have __ever__ known." She said, her voice only wavering slightly as she stared into his eyes. "And I trust you as my fellow knight, unreservedly."

Gunther's gaze met hers and he smiled, briefly and genuinely. "Trust me until the end Jane, as I am trusting you."

He took another step. "I am strong."

"Yes," said Jane.

Another step. "I am stubborn."

"Yes," she whispered.

Another step. "The moon is not yet full."

Jane could only nod.

" _ _And I am in control__ ," he gasped out.

And then he changed.

It was torture, Jane knew. His limbs twisted and expanded and tore, bone and skin deforming and reforming with a gut-wrenching noise. The hair on his head and face spread across his body like a black tide as his clothes stretched, ripped, and then disintegrated completely. His face, his hands, fingers and toes all cracked and grew and ceased to be human. Everything became sharp, pointed and merciless.

His eyes changed last; familiar grey filled with agony and determination in equal measure flooded finally in pure, oily black until there was no Gunther, only beast.

He stood still for a moment and Jane's heart hammered in her chest as they stared at one another before he took a measured step.

His paces were greater now, quickly swallowing the distance between them until he stood towering over her. His breaths came out as snarls, teeth barred as he glared down his long nose at her.

Jane stood her ground and stared up into the black eyes of the beast. She saw anger there, a boiling rage, and hatred and . . . fear.

__The beast was not in control._ _

"I trust you," she said, not to the beast but to the man who was gone but not gone. The man in control.

He began to move again; giant, long-fingered paws bigger than her head reaching out to grasp the hand holding the arrow. He held her firmly but gently, guiding the tip of the arrow to point at his stomach. His skin began to hiss where it met silver either side of her hand, and the acrid smell churned Jane's stomach.

The beast closed its eyes, hissing in pain, before drawing Jane in, almost as though to hug her. Jane was enveloped in heat and fur and the stench of decay, and did not immediately recognise the warm wetness on her hands. It was only when the beast began to howl that she realised, and by then it was too late; the deed was done.

The beast's howling stopped as quickly as it had begun, and silence fell as it sunk gracelessly to its knees. It still held Jane's hand within its own and she fell with it, into the pool of blood forming on the dirt.

Jane could not measure the time they spent kneeling, staring, dripping blood until the beast released her hand and she in turn let go of the arrow. Another heartbeat passed before the creature fell backwards, bouncing once as it hit the ground before coming to rest, motionless and silent.

The shaft of the arrow gleamed proudly, its head buried in the belly of the beast.

Jane sank bonelessly down then, too, her hands holding her up from the bloodied earth.

Somewhere at the edge of her hearing a bird began to sing.

* * *


	13. Blackness and Blood

There were no tears, only anger. Rage consumed Jane as she throttled the giant body of the beast, fists beating against its bony shoulders as she screamed.

"Give him back! He was never yours! You can not keep him! Give him back!"

Black eyes stared unseeing at the moon and the moon gazed back in silence, a cold understanding between them that Jane could not bear.

" _ _Give him back!__ " She ordered, her throat burning. "I have to take him home, he has to come home with me."

She grabbed at the hair on its cheeks and yanked at the beast's head until its face pointed to her own, but still those black eyes reflected the moon.

"You lost," she told it desperately. "You lost, so- so he is not yours! You can not keep him, you have to give him back! You have to . . . ."

__Give him back._ _

Jane drew in a shaky breath, and then another.

"I __need__ him," she whispered, and then screamed. " _ _I need him!"__

Sir Theodore, Sir Ivon, they would want him returned. They would rather Jane drag his body back with her than not bring him home at all. They would want to see him buried properly.

The King would not accept anything but the return of his loyal servant. The Queen would sob to think of him abandoned to rot.

"I cannot go home without him, how could I __possibly__ go home without him?"

What would the Royal Children do without him to pester? Who would help Smithy move his heaviest materials? The others would miss him, too, and . . . .

"What will __I__ do without him?" Jane sat back in sudden horror. "Who will I spar with? Who will I . . . ." __Argue with, work with, study with, ride with__. . . .

In truth the list was endless. They had been students, rivals, apprentices together for so long now and somewhere through the years they had become partners. A team. They had become . . . __them__. Jane and Gunther. Gunther and Jane.

Bile rose in Jane's throat and she forced it back, removing her hands from the corpse.

"This is wrong," she said. "This is __not__ how this ends. He beat you, he-he __won__."

The beast stared at the moon.

"I am telling you he won!" Jane screamed. "Listen to me, you __bastard__ , or I will cut out your damned eyes!"

Her hands searched the ground around her for a stone, a stick, something with which to attack that unyielding stare. When she failed to find anything she leapt to her feet, drawing her sword, and lowering the point to his face.

In her frenzy she did not notice that the arrow was gone from the stomach of the beast, nor the faint jerking movements, but when she moved to slice through its eyes the whole body convulsed and she stumbled back a step.

She turned just in time to see the silver arrow push upwards, back through the flesh of the beast creating a hole, and then there were fingers pushing and tearing, and Jane dropped her sword.

" _ _Oh gods,__ " she gasped, falling again to her knees, grabbing the arrow and pulling it free, and using the head to hack and slice until there was a hand, slick and slimy with blood so dark it was almost black.

She grasped the hand and squeezed hard as she continued to work at the opening with the arrow head, until the fingers of the second hand pushed through, tearing desperately.

"Hold on!" Jane yelled, releasing her grip on the other hand as she remembered the knife in her pack and dove for it.

The blade was sharp and Jane cut carefully, muttering "Hold on, hold on, hold on," over and over as the struggling fingers grew weaker.

There would be no air, no light, just darkness and blood. Jane repressed a shudder, holding her hands steady as she worked until she was able to toss the knife down and tear. The last sinews strained and snapped and she reached for the hands, now barely moving, and __pulled__ with all of her might.

She staggered backwards as the slick hands slipped free of her own and a human form rose from within the monster. Covered in blood and dripping gory chunks of Hell knew what, he gasped, desperately drawing in air.

He opened his eyes briefly then, blessedly familiarly grey, and looked at Jane.

"Gunther," she breathed in disbelief, before his eyes rolled back in his head and she dove to catch him as he slumped forwards.

* * *

It had been hard work pulling him out of the corpse, struggling for grip on his slippery skin as she bore the full weight of him. It was only after she had dragged him free at last that she realised he was naked.

"Oh," said Jane, nonplussed. __Well, of course, you saw his clothes destroyed, s__ he reminded herself, although that failed to solve the problem of what to do about it.

Her next thought was to cover him in her cloak, but as she raised her hands to unfasten it she realised they were covered in blood, and that Gunther was almost unrecognisable under a thick coat of the congealing liquid.

Jane found herself unable to leave him in such a state, and her eyes turned towards the gently rippling pond.

She shed her cloak and outer garments before gripping Gunther under the arms and dragging him towards the water, focusing intently on her task as adrenaline coursed through her.

The cold water elicited a gasp but she grit her teeth and drew them both in as red swirled and spread in tendrils around them.

As the water passed over him it revealed his body to be thin but unmarked, save for a scar above his right hip. It was a half circle of deep puncture wounds, red and puckered. A bite mark.

"Oh, Gunther," said Jane.

It was only when she wiped her hands over his face that they began to shake, only when the blood washed away to reveal his familiar features that she realised tears were blurring her vision.

She knelt in the water, trembling and sobbing as she washed him clean, thanking the silent stars above that he couldn't see her just now.

* * *

The night was long and cold, and Jane shivered as she held Gunther, wrapped in her cloak and the blankets from his pack and hers. They huddled under a tree while Gunther slept on deeply, and the body of the beast lay just a stone's throw away. Jane tried not to stare at it as she kept watch.

The arrow lay within her reach where she had gathered it together with the rest of their belongings. Keeping one arm wrapped around Gunther she picked it up, wiping it clean on the corner of a blanket until it gleamed in the moonlight once more.

"I hope we __never__ have need of this again, Gunther,"she said, looking at him.

A matted lock of hair fell across his eyes, and he stirred in his sleep, mumbling something that sounded vaguely like "Jane."

Placing the arrow on the ground beside her she reached across to brush the hair back from his face. It was a mess, like the rest of him, suffering from the effects of neglect. His unusually pale skin was stretched over gaunt cheekbones, and dark circles surrounded his eyes. Somehow he looked both younger and older to Jane, but also just like someone she had been longing to see. She knew, rather __too__ well now, how his muscles lay tight across his bones, with no spare flesh to round them. He would be ravenous when he woke up.

 _ _If he wakes__ , came a traitorous thought, and Jane squashed it down.

"He will wake up," she told herself, and then Gunther. "You __will__ , Gunther. You would not want to miss the chance to bask in the glory of your greatest victory, now, would you?"

Gunther stirred again at the sound of her voice and one of his hands slipped from beneath the cloak, brushing against Jane's thigh. Goosebumps rose on her skin, but they were not born of the cold. Startled, Jane reached beneath the blanket, twining her fingers with his and filing the physical betrayal of her body away for later consideration, if not to be permanently forgotten.

Sliding further down into the blankets Jane lay awake and watching until their combined warmth eventually filled the space between them and she succumbed to her own exhaustion.

* * *

Shrill birdsong woke Jane from a fitful drowse as the grey light of morning flooded the clearing. Gunther continued to sleep soundly and despite shaking him firmly Jane couldn't wake him. She chewed her lower lip and considered her choices.

Dragging him all the way to the Traveller's camp was not an option, and they couldn't stay put with nothing to eat or drink until Gunther's strength returned. Not to mention the smell that would soon come from . . . the body. Jane shuddered and looked back to Gunther, moving the blanket away from his mouth.

"I am going to have to leave you here for a little while," she told him softly. "I need to go and get help."

She hesitated a moment longer before wriggling out from under the blankets and tucking them tight around him. She adjusted the pack under his head and placed a hand against his cheek. He was warm. Too warm? Or was she simply cold?

__I must find Sabina._ _

She hated more than anything else the thought of leaving him alone with the monster once more but it had to be done, and now was the best time to catch the foraging Travellers before they moved on.

"Back soon," she promised, before standing and jogging into the woods.

* * *

Jane supposed she must have looked a fright in her blood-stained clothes with her hair frizzing madly, but Sabina greeted her warmly and placed a comforting hand on her back as she doubled over, gasping for breath. Running and calling for the foraging woman may not have been an elegant approach, but it __had__ been effective, drawing the attention of a familiar scout, and Sabina herself shortly after.

"Breathe Jane, breathe, and tell me what has happened to you?" She said, scanning the younger woman for injuries.

"I need help," Jane gasped out. "For Gunther. He has-" Oh sard, what did it matter now? "He has killed a werewolf."

Sabina paled at this announcement, and the eyebrows shot up on the young scout standing beside her.

"I cannot get him to wake up," Jane continued. "Please, Sabina, he needs help."

Sabina nodded. "Very well, is he far from here?"

"No, I left him in a clearing nearby," Jane said.

"Then Harman will accompany us there where we will stay and tend to Gunther while he runs back to camp to gather some men to help us move him," Sabina decided, and the young scout, Harman, nodded his agreement.

"Thank you," said Jane before setting off, not wanting to waste any more time.

"What happened?" Asked Harman, jogging beside her.

"It attacked him and he fought for . . . a long time. A long time." Jane panted out. "But he killed it."

"Did it . . . was he . . . is it safe?" Asked Sabina from behind them.

"Yes-no-yes-" Jane interrupted herself with an impatient huff. "We are safe. But Gunther . . . I am not sure he is."

When they arrived back at the clearing Jane instantly made her way to Gunther, searching for signs of change but finding none. She glanced over her shoulder to ask Sabina for instruction and saw that both she and Harman had frozen and were staring at the beast.

"I realise it is not pleasant," said Jane firmly, if a little breathlessly. "But it can not harm you now."

When neither of them responded she spoke louder, "Please, help us!"

At this Sabina blinked and looked over to where Jane knelt beside Gunther. She moved quickly to join her, taking in his pale features with a glance.

"Harman, go quickly and bring back help. We will need several strong men. Tell Grandmother we will need hot water and a bed made ready. Go now!" She did not look up as she gave the orders, nor when Harman nodded and ran back into the woods. Her focus was on her patient.

"He is feverish," she muttered to Jane. "When did he last eat, or drink?"

"I do not know," said Jane, her stomach dropping as she took in the concern on Sabina's face. "Is it . . . Is he . . . ?" She trailed off, unsure how to ask, or if she even wanted to.

"We shall see," replied the herbalist. The silver bracelets on her wrists jangled with each movement she made, and Jane said nothing as they were pressed against Gunther's cheek. She understood the other woman's need to be certain.

When several moments passed without any reaction, Sabina continued with her ministrations.

"For now we must prepare him for travel." She said briskly, and the two women set to work.


	14. Scratches and Skin

The caravan bounced and jostled as it travelled over the rough forest road, but Jane had become accustomed to the motion and barely noticed. She sat on one of the two beds, equipment spread around her as she sorted through it and repacked her bag. It was busywork, really; something for her hands to do while her mind was otherwise occupied.

Gunther lay on the bed opposite, and she glanced across regularly, studying him with critical eyes. It had been a day and a bit since they had rejoined the Travellers, although to Jane it felt much longer.

Harman had returned to the clearing with a small army of men, several to help carry Gunther and the rest, it seemed to Jane, to gawk at the body of the werewolf.

Sabina had truly begun giving orders then, and had scarcely stopped since. Gunther had been loaded blankets and all onto a stretcher and carted back to the camp, leaving Jane to gather their belongings and follow behind with Sabina, while the rest of the party remained in the clearing.

When they arrived back at the camp it was to a flurry of activity. The camp fires had been stoked back to life and pots of water set to boil above them. Jane had been relieved of the bags she was carrying by Kezia, but when she moved to follow Gunther's stretcher she was instead guided by Rose to a screened off bathtub.

"You must let Sabina work," said Rose firmly over Jane's protests. "And you will frighten the children looking like that." She added, one eyebrow raised in emphasis as she looked Jane up and down.

"But Gunther-" began Jane.

"-Is in good hands," said Rose, placing her hands on her hips.

"I can change my clothes," Jane reasoned.

"You smell," replied Rose shortly. "Now, will you be undressing yourself, or will I?"

Jane sighed in frustration and defeat, looking down at her bloodstained clothes. "Fine."

The bath was hot and smelled of fragrant herbs, but the water quickly discoloured as Jane began scrubbing angrily, cleaning her skin more thoroughly than the cold pond had allowed.

"There are more important things to be done right now," she muttered, scratching at her fingernails with a coarse brush.

"And they are being attended to," said Kezia, reappearing to gather Jane's discarded clothes -gingerly. "These are __ruined.__ " She said, bundling them together and holding them as far from her body as possible. "Thankfully the fires are burning hot." She added, walking away.

"Do not __dare__ ," said Jane, half rising from the bath, but the girl was gone behind the screen and Jane had no option but to sink back into the water, unless she wished to give chase to her soiled clothing through the crowded camp while naked and dripping wet.

She gave the option due consideration but the warm, fragrant water had begun to sap what little energy remained after her long night, and she bid a mental farewell to her clothes as she leaned back against the tub.

She closed her eyes - _ _Just for a moment__ \- and fished absently in the bath for her discarded scrubbing brush, only to be startled upright, spluttering, as a bucket of fresh water was upended over her head.

"What a mess," tutted Rose above her, tugging at her hair.

"What are you __doing__?" Spluttered Jane, wiping her eyes as her head was yanked this way and that.

"Your hair," replied Rose, as though it was obvious.

Kezia returned, a bucket of water in each hand, and joined her sister in assessing the tangled mop of curls.

"It is nearly as bad as his," she sighed, pulling a comb from the pocket of her apron.

"Yes, but salvageable," said Rose, taking the comb and applying it to Jane's hair with a firm hand.

"I would not be so sure," said Kezia as the comb snagged.

"Ouch!" Hissed Jane, but got no sympathy from her attendants.

"This will be over much faster if you sit still," Rose told her, while Kezia rolled up her sleeves.

Exhaling deeply, Jane drew her legs up against her body, folded her arms across her knees and rested her chin upon them. She closed her eyes and thought of bath times in her mother's chambers when she was just a child, while the two sisters bickered and worked above her.

* * *

As promised, the torture had ended a short time later and Jane had been permitted to dress in peace. Clad once again in a colourful skirt and blouse with her hair tightly braided, she made her way back through the main camp, looking for a hive of activity to signal Gunther's location. Instead she found Vadoma, perched on her sedan chair, __her throne__ as Jane had come to think of it, watching her with twinkling eyes.

"Grandmother," said Jane in greeting. "Can you tell me where Gunther is?"

"Ah, Jane, I see Kezia and Rose have taken good care of you," said Vadoma cheerfully. "I find their duties in caring for the goats have made them quite adept at dealing with the most stubborn characters; I do hope they were not too forceful with you."

"They were . . . efficient," said Jane shortly. "Do you know where he is?"

"Over there," said Vadoma, eyes still sparkling as she nodded towards a caravan.

"Thank you!" Jane called over her shoulder as she set off at a trot.

Sabina was exiting the caravan as Jane approached, and they met at the door.

"How is he?" Jane asked, standing on the step.

"Resting," Sabina replied, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. "We have done what we can; the rest is up to him."

"May I . . . ?" Jane gestured towards the door.

"Of course." Sabina stepped aside, and if she said anything else Jane didn't hear her.

She stepped into the van, her eyes adjusting to the dim light as she found Gunther lying on the bed.

"Oh, no," breathed Jane.

He was still asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly under herbal poultices and blankets. He was cleaner now; perhaps he had been bathed too. He __had__ been shaved, and the absence of hair highlighted his sunken cheeks. Another poultice was laid across his forehead, above which . . . .

"Oh, your __hair__."

It had been cropped off close to his head, and the sight upset Jane as much as anything else she had seen in the last 24 hours.

She could not have said why it bothered her so much, beyond knowing that Gunther had his own sense of vanity; but perhaps it had something to do with his hair being such a recognisable part of him, and now it, too was gone.

Was anything left of Gunther in the man lying on that bed? Jane certainly hoped so.

* * *

So Jane had watched, and waited, between being ushered out by Sabina and her helpers so they could swap Gunther's poultices over, or drip herbal teas into his mouth. The day drew to a close with little sign of change in his condition, and Jane was once again forced to sleep in Kezia and Rose's caravan, although she got little rest between her own worries and the girls rising to help a doe deliver triplets in the dead of night. The smallest and weakest of the kids had even been brought back and tucked into bed with Rose, at which point Jane had abandoned all hope of sleep.

Instead she had lain in bed, running through the events of the previous night in her mind. It was difficult to believe everything that had happened in such a short span of time. It was almost humorous to consider the hopeful mood she had set out in to seek Gunther, and the woeful state she found him in. Yet he had persevered -somehow he had done it.

Their conversation had been a strange one, full of urgency but so few answers.

 _"_ _ _I am sorry, Jane, there is more to say but time is short. I left a note for you with my things.__ _"_ He had said.

Jane chewed her lip as she remembered. Where were his things? Beside his bed along with her own bag. She resolved to search for the note as soon as the sun rose.

* * *

She had found the note, or at least she suspected she had, but it provided no answers and many more questions. It sat beside her on the bed as she finished sorting her belongings and packed them away, having done Gunther's earlier.

She was beyond weary now; nights with little sleep and days filled with stress catching up with her. She would have to plan ahead soon if . . . there were no changes. Should she beg a horse and ride ahead to the castle, leaving Gunther in the care of the Travellers? Or should she remain beside him and continue home at this agonising pace? What if he woke up after she left, or worse . . . what if he never woke up at all?

"Wake up and tell me what to do," she said softly. "Just this once I promise to listen to your advice."

Jane sank back onto the bed and lay on her side, watching Gunther's profile. Even breaths in, even breaths out, steady and unchanging. Unconsciously Jane's breathing began to match his, and she drifted off to a sleep filled with shadowy monsters, ponds filled with blood, and familiar grey eyes.

* * *

The carriage bounced over a rut in the road and Jane jolted upright, heart racing, and looked around the tiny space. Beams of sunlight still danced along the walls, their neatly packed bags still sat on the floor and Gunther remained in place, watching her.

Jane swung her feet to the floor, blinking sleep from her eyes and not quite believing.

"Gunther?" She asked softly.

He groaned faintly in response.

"You are awake!" Jane jumped to her feet, unsure what to do.

"Drink," he croaked out.

"Y-yes, of course."

There was a bottle and cup waiting in a rack on the wall for just this moment, and Jane returned quickly to raise the cup to Gunther's cracked lips, supporting his head with her other hand. He drank in tiny, desperate mouthfuls, until Jane took the drink away.

She watched him for a moment, lowering his head back to the pillow, where he closed his eyes in exhaustion.

"I should go get Sabina," Jane said, standing. "She will help you more than I can."

She turned to go, but froze when Gunther's fingers brushed against her own.

"Impossible . . . Jane," he said, before licking his lips. "Thank you."

Then he smiled, a lop-sided, distinctly Gunther-ish smile, and relief flooded through Jane.

"Welcome back," she said softly.

Stepping out of the van and onto the landing Jane pulled the door closed behind her and leant back against it. She took a deep breath as a smile spread across her face.

"Thank goodness," she breathed out, before tripping lightly down the steps and setting off to find Sabina.

* * *

Gunther's strength began to return in the days that followed, bolstered by many hearty meals and increasing amounts of time spent outside.

He had gathered a following of young traveller men who were impressed or downright awed by his brave feat of killing the werewolf and saving them all from its inevitable wrath. They flocked around him whenever he was out of his van, talking about weapons and food with equal passion and challenging him to archery contests once he was more recovered.

Gunther for his part seemed to enjoy their company more than their admiration, talking happily with them and laughing at their jokes. Jane watched from across the camp fire one evening as he ate his third bowl of stew, deep in conversation with Harman and several others. Dressed in traveller clothing he blended right in and looked like just one young man among many.

Of course, Jane knew that wasn't quite true.

"What does this say?" She had asked the day after he woke up, holding out the note he had left behind in the clearing.

He was sitting up on the bed, propped against a mountain of pillows, pale and gaunt but alert.

"Do not mock me, Jane," he had pleaded in response when he realised what she was holding.

"I-I am not," she had replied, confused. "I just want to know what you wanted to tell me."

"You . . . cannot read it?" He asked in apparent surprise.

"You __can__?" Jane had shot back, waving the piece of bark at him. It was criss-crossed with scratches, claw marks, really, in no discernible pattern.

Gunther stared at the note, blinking as his eyes seemed to refocus.

" . . . huh." He said eventually. "It seems I can read werewolf."

"You wrote me a message in __werewolf__?" Jane had asked in exasperation. "How was I ever supposed to read it?"

"Fortunately, I am here to deliver it in person after all," Gunther laughed weakly.

"So what does it say?" Jane held it up for him to read.

"Nothing, really," he had replied, colour rising to his cheeks. "I was rather confused by then, clearly. I mean, I wrote a note you could not even read, and it was nonsense, truly."

Jane had pestered him further but Gunther had refused to read the message and was eventually rescued by Sabina who insisted on him resting. Jane had tucked the piece of bark away in her bag where it remained even now.

Her musings on the subject were interrupted and Jane was bought back to the present by Vadoma, who had evidently come to sit beside her during her reverie.

"It must be a great relief to him,"said the old woman, watching Gunther.

"Mmm," agreed Jane absent mindedly, before shaking her head. "Sorry-what?"

"Such a heavy burden, finally lifted from those broad shoulders," she gestured at Gunther. "It must be a relief."

"Umm," Jane felt as though she were walking into a trap, but decided to plough ahead anyway. "Which burden?"

"It is one thing for a boy to hope he will grow to be a good man, despite his own shortcomings and those of his family, but it is another thing to be put to the test, to face a great temptation, and resolve to __be__ a good man. He proved to himself at last that despite his struggles he is indeed a good man." Vadoma smiled at Jane. "A very good man. Handsome, too." She added, wriggling her non-existent eyebrows.

Jane rolled her eyes in response before looking back at Gunther. It was true that he seemed to carry a new sense of self-assurance with him, less cocky and obnoxious and more calm, certain. She was pleased for him, truly, if what Vadoma had said was true, although Jane had not thought about Gunther like that before. Had he really thought he might become like his father? But then, if Jane was honest with herself she had to admit to harbouring similar suspicions herself, before . . . before everything changed.

She looked back at Vadoma. "If you knew all along, why did you not simply tell him what he must do? You could have spared him a lot of suffering."

"The old ways are fickle, my dear," Vadoma stared into the fire, still smiling as she spoke. "It would not be a sacrifice if he knew he would survive, and then it would not work. Yes, blood and sacrifice, that is how to appease the ancient magic."

"It was __cruel__ ," said Jane, reproachfully.

"Oh, yes," Vadoma agreed. "Certainly for the monster."

The fire crackled merrily, its light dancing around the camp, shifting eerily across the giant pelt stretched out to dry on a frame suspended from a tree. Jane shuddered when she saw it, as she always did.

She had learned at last what Harman's party had remained behind in the clearing for, when they presented the werewolf skin to Gunther several days after he had woken up. They had begun the tanning process, the flesh scraped away to leave only skin and hair, but the sight was no less disquieting to Jane, who had recoiled in horror upon realising what it was.

Gunther, however, seemed to appreciate the morbid gift, responding enthusiastically as the boys told him the gory details of its preparation.

"I can finally believe it, now," he had told Jane when they were alone. "It truly is dead. It is gone from my head forever!"

He had smiled at her so broadly then that Jane decided to bite her tongue and smile back. Gunther had earned his trophy, and his peace of mind, so Jane would let him have it.

She looked back across the fire at Gunther as he laughed at something one of the other boys was saying, when he looked up and met her gaze. He gave a smile, small but true and meant for her, before returning to his conversation.

Something unknown fluttered in the pit of Jane's stomach.


	15. Strolling and Separation

They were two weeks into the trip back to the castle, travelling through the dark trees at the painfully slow pace of the caravans, and Jane was growing impatient.

Spending her days in skirts, surrounded by people who did not believe women could be warriors, was quickly becoming tiring. Her concerns about Gunther had abated with his recovery, and a familiar irritation had taken their place.

She was annoyed by his easy camaraderie with the travellers. They treated him as their equal, if not their hero. He could go and do as he wished, without anyone making noises about propriety or decency.

He could dress as he liked, in trousers and loose shirts, and play with swords and arrows and axes. He could eat as much as he wanted and no one expected him to help clean up the dishes.

He was followed, day in and day out, by an endless stream of admiring girls who swooned and cooed at his every move. It was all Jane could do not to grind her teeth as she lay in the dark and listened to Kezia and Rose whisper and giggle about his muscles, his eyes, his charming little habits . . . it was __infuriating__.

Jane marched through the camp, her sword strapped to her back. She had taken to wearing it as a reminder to everyone that she was not a washerwoman, or a goat keeper. She was a knight apprentice, whether they liked it or not, and right now she needed some space.

"Jane!"

Gunther jogged towards her, and Jane rolled her eyes as she kept walking.

"Going for a walk?" He asked as he caught up with her.

"Yes, alone," she replied pointedly.

"Sounds good," he said, matching her pace.

Jane marched on, irritated.

"I have not seen much of you this last week," Gunther was saying. "Are you well?"

In truth Jane had been avoiding him as her frustration grew. She continued on in silence, resenting his presence. His stupid muscles, and eyes and charms.

"Jane, please," Gunther placed a hand on her arm, voice pleading.

They were out of sight of the camp now and Jane whirled on him. "I am __fine__ , Gunther. Just fine. And if I could have a moment of peace I would be even better for it."

Gunther blinked, hurt momentarily crossing his features before he schooled his expression. Not, as Jane half expected into anger, or a sneer, but something closer to . . . apologetic?

"I understand," he said softly, before holding out a bundle Jane had not noticed he had been carrying. "I just wanted to give you this . . . and to apologise."

Caught off guard Jane took the offering. It was a cloth sack and Gunther continued talking as she loosened the strings holding it closed.

"I am sorry that it took so long," he was saying. "They did not have anything that would quite fit, so I had to have it made. I hope it is acceptable."

Jane blinked in surprise as she looked into the bag. A simple shirt, a vest . . . and trousers.

"I thought you might be growing tired of your . . . layers," Gunther continued, gesturing at her current outfit.

"I __am__ , Gunther," Jane nodded, refusing to take her eyes off the bag of clothes. She was feeling strangely overwhelmed by his kind gesture. "No one here seems to realise that I am not . . . __this__." She grabbed a handful of skirt. "I am more than this, and I am so __tired__ of it!" A hot tear rolled down her cheek and landed on the cloth, much to Jane's horror.

"Hey, now," said Gunther in alarm, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I do not care what you wear, Jane. In skirts or breeches you are a knight of Kippernium and my partner . . . and my champion. Which brings me to my second point." He inhaled and exhaled deeply, as though steeling himself before continuing. "I need to apologise for anything and everything I have done in these last weeks. I set out to face this alone because I did not believe I needed your help, and because I did not wish to endanger you. I thought you would be a burden but, as usual, you proved me wrong. I could not have done this without you, but I caused you pain and I apologise for that. I will not forget what you have done for me, Jane. When I needed a friend I looked up and there you were. Never in my life have I . . . Well." He cleared his throat. "I should leave you alone now."

"No," said Jane, blinking away her unshed tears. "It is okay, if you would like to walk with me."

Gunther returned her small smile with one of his own, and they resumed walking at a more sedate pace.

Jane eventually broke the silence.

"Everything you said that night, before you . . . changed. Did you mean it?"

"My memories of that night are a little hazy," Gunther admitted. "But I was beyond subterfuge at that point. So yes, for better or worse whatever I said was the truth."

Jane smiled to herself, and hugged the cloth bundle absent-mindedly.

"What __did__ I say?" asked Gunther, suddenly concerned.

"It was all very complimentary," Jane reassured him, laughing at his expression. "You are very kind when you are delirious." She teased.

Gunther ran a hand through his close-cropped hair, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

"And what happened after?" He asked after several more moments of silent walking.

"Hmm?" Asked Jane, focusing on the ground beneath the trees, looking for herbs. Sabina had trained her well.

"All I remember is dreaming, and then waking up in the caravan," recalled Gunther. "What happened in between?"

"Oh," Jane chewed her lower lip, blushing as she remembered the details of that night. "Some things are better left in a haze, Gunther, believe me." She told him eventually.

"How alarming," replied Gunther. "But I will take you at your word." He added, holding both hands up in a placating manner as Jane raised her brows, daring him to argue.

The movement caused two silver bangles on his wrist to clash together, drawing Jane's attention.

" _ _More__?" She asked, exasperated.

Ever since he had begun leaving his bed and regaining his strength and colour, traveller girls had been offering him gifts. __Tokens__ , they called them, __of their appreciation__. Bracelets, rings, charms on leather cords, earrings and more. The girls always insisted on him wearing them (a challenge with the earrings) and they were __always__ made ofsilver. Gunther accepted them graciously and did his best to oblige with wearing them, but to Jane it rankled.

"Why do you wear them? You have __nothing__ to prove!"

Gunther smiled warmly down at her. "I have recently learned the incomparable value of __peace of mind,__ " he pointed out. "It costs me nothing to give it to these people who have done so much for us, so we will let them have it. Although," he added. "I __will__ continue to decline having my ears pierced, as much as Harman insists it will suit me."

Jane laughed. "It may serve as a distraction from your hair."

As soon as Gunther had awoken and been himself again, Jane had come to terms with his haircut. Gunther, on the other hand, had not, and he groaned now as he ran his hand over his head once again.

"Nothing can distract from my hair," he bemoaned.

"That could well be true," Jane agreed, laughing when Gunther looked at her pitifully.

"You are supposed to soothe me with compliments," he said.

Jane snorted. "There are girls aplenty back at the camp who will do that for you," she pointed out. "It is my duty as your partner to be honest with you."

"I would take your honesty over their flattery a thousand times, Jane," said Gunther candidly.

Jane's heart hammered in her chest as she took in the expression on his face, but then they rounded a curve in the path and the dense trees yielded to daylight.

"At last!" She cried, breaking into a sprint.

She was not running away, she told herself fiercely, but rather running __to__ , and she burst forth into the open air with a smile on her face, arms open wide to soak in the sunshine.

Gunther joined her and they stood, staring at the blue sky in silence for several moments.

"Another couple of weeks and we should reach the castle," Gunther observed, as Jane closed her eyes and let the warmth of the sun wash over her face.

" _ _Home__ ," she said, enjoying the taste of the word as it rolled from her mouth.

"My own bed," agreed Gunther.

Jane laughed at the mention of his favourite place. "Pepper's cooking," she added.

"The training yard."

"Dragon."

"The Knights."

"My family," Jane sighed wistfully.

"My . . . duty," Gunther replied, slowly.

"You will soon be a knight!" Jane gasped, remembering.

"Perhaps, if Sir Theodore consents," he said guardedly.

"I am certain he will! I will vouch for you," Jane added. "You deserve it, Gunther."

Gunther smiled but said nothing in response, until his gaze fell upon Jane's sword.

"Jane! You could try summoning Dragon!"

"Really? Do you think?" Jane reached to draw her dragonblade, before hesitating. "But . . . I should not."

"Why? I am certain he is searching for you by now, regardless of Sir Theodore's orders."

"I am not so certain," she said, hand falling to her side. "We argued before I left, I am sure he is still sulking."

"He was worried about you, Jane," Gunther said. "Probably still is."

"I know," said Jane impatiently. "But he cannot fuss every time I leave for a mission-"

"He was worried with good reason," Gunther interrupted her. "I spent the first full moon shut in his cave. He knew, Jane. __That__ is why he was worried."

"Oh," said Jane. "Well. But if I summon him he will want to take me back . . . ."

"And you will want to go," Gunther pointed out with a smirk.

"I should not leave you; would you come with us?" She asked hopefully.

He shook his head. "No, I will stay and escort the Travellers. You should not let that stop you, though."

"You enjoy travelling with them," Jane said. It was not a question.

"Yes," agreed Gunther. "It has been . . . liberating."

"You swore an oath to the King," she reminded him softly.

"I know," he said patiently. "And I will honour it. But if I am to become a knight I may never taste freedom like this again, so please let me have it, Jane."

"Very well," she sighed, drawing her sword. "But if you run away Dragon and I will track you down!"

"I would expect nothing less," Gunther assured her, laughing.

* * *

Dragon landed heavily on the road in front of them within an hour of Jane beginning to summon him.

She was alone, as Gunther had returned to the camp to get her bag as soon as they had seen the dragon's silhouette in the skies above them. Jane had made use of his absence to quickly rid herself of her skirts and bodice and puffy sleeved shirt, and was now much more comfortably dressed in the brown canvas trousers, simple linen shirt and deep blue vest he had commissioned. They fit perfectly.

Dressed as she was, with her sword at her back and now reunited with her best friend, Jane felt happier than she had in some time.

"Dragon," she cried in delight, as her giant friend touched down in a cloud of dust.

"Are you all right? Are you hurt?" He questioned frantically, studying her closely for signs of injury.

"No, Dragon, I am quite all right, I promise," Jane reassured her giant friend.

Dragon continued his inspection of her for several more moments, before apparently deciding that she was indeed unharmed.

"You have been gone for a long time," he said reproachfully, before adding, "for a shortlife, that is."

"I know," said Jane with a weary sigh. "Have you been searching for me?"

"I was passing by," Dragon replied with a disdainful sniff. "You are simply lucky."

"I know I am, you big lizard," she said affectionately, throwing her arms around his snout.

Dragon closed his eyes and accepted her embrace, a smile curling across his lips. "I missed you, Shortlife," he admitted.

"I missed you too, Dragon." Jane stepped back and met his eyes. "I am sorry I got cross, Gunther told me that you knew what happened to him."

Dragon huffed sulkily, but Jane could tell he did not mean it.

"What happened to Wolf-boy anyway?" He asked, looking around. "Is he dead?"

" _ _No__!" Jane gave him a withering look. "And he is completely un-wolfish now, too."

"Mission accomplished, then?" Dragon asked hopefully.

"Yes," said Jane.

"So you can come home?" Dragon clapped his hand together in glee.

"Yes, Dragon," Jane smiled, assessing him in turn as he stood on his haunches. "You look well." She told him.

"Do I?" He asked pitiably. "I have barely been eating."

"I can tell," laughed Jane, poking his side. "There is more than one pot of Pepper's cabbage soup in there if I am not mistaken!"

"Perhaps one or two," Dragon admitted.

"Dragon!" Called Gunther, running from the woods.

"Gunther," greeted Dragon warily, leaning over to sniff the squire thoroughly. "You smell all right." He conceded eventually.

"I am, thanks to Jane," Gunther agreed. "You changed your clothes." He said, turning to her. "They suit you."

"I would not mind even if I looked like a complete fool," she said, giving a quick turn. "They __feel__ wonderful!"

"I am glad," said Gunther, seeming to take in the sight of her. "Uh, I told Vadoma you are leaving, and some of the travellers are coming to see Dragon."

"What am I, some kind of spectacle?" Dragon asked in indignation.

"Yes, Dragon, a great big wonderful green spectacle," Jane told him, laughing.

"Vadoma is leading the party, so they are travelling at a rather slow pace, if you wanted to make your escape without an audience," Gunther offered.

Jane thought for a moment before shaking her head.

"I should stay and express my gratitude," she said. "I have not been the most gracious guest of late."

Gunther's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I do not think our hosts would agree, Jane. They admire you a great deal."

Jane met his surprise with her own. "I thought they found me . . . unnatural," she admitted slowly.

"What?" He scoffed. "No! You may be different than what they are used to, but almost every young woman in that camp has asked me about you. They find you inspiring, Jane."

Jane blinked at him in bewilderment. "Truly?"

"Yes! And most of the unwed men under fifty have asked me if you are spoken for! You have been the subject of great admiration."

Jane looked at him in alarm. "What did you tell them?"

"Oh, I told them to ask you themselves . . . ." Gunther trailed off. "But obviously none of them did?"

Jane shook her head in the negative, lost for words.

"If I had known how you were feeling I would have told you, Jane. I did not realise no one had approached you. I think they find you intimidating, but I promise you they know you are an incredible person. I told them so myself." He paused, his ears evidently catching up with his mouth. "You know, when they asked." He added, before clearing his throat.

Dragon looked back and forth between the two squires, who were looking awkwardly at the ground.

"Well of course Jane is incredible," he said impatiently. "She __is__ my friend, after all."

Jane laughed, and if it sounded forced neither Dragon nor Gunther said anything.

"Yes Dragon, and we have a lot to catch up on," she said brightly, disliking the high pitch of her own voice. "So we will not linger over our goodbyes when the others arrive."

"Jane," began Gunther, hesitantly. "What will you tell Sir Theodore and the King about . . . our mission?"

"Oh," she said, understanding. "I had not thought that far ahead."

"Tell them whatever you think necessary," he told her at length. "I trust you."

"I will tell them that it was a success, and that with the help of a group of Travellers you killed another werewolf and learned the cure. That you are escorting them to the castle and that I travelled on ahead to share the news." Said Jane decisively. "I am sure that will satisfy them until you are able to give a more detailed account."

"Agreed," said Gunther, his relief evident.

The sound of gasps and exclamations heralded the arrival of the Travellers, with Vadoma leading the way in her sedan chair, borne aloft by four strapping young men.

Jane wondered briefly if any of them had enquired after her marital status. The thought of Gunther answering them sat strangely in the pit of her stomach.

The Travellers had stopped at the edge of the woods, mouths agape as they stared at Dragon, until Vadoma thumped on the arm of her chair.

"Move, move!" She said impatiently.

"What is __that__?" Dragon asked Jane as the group drew closer.

"Shush," hissed Jane, while Gunther smiled encouragingly at the Travellers.

They stopped a short distance from Dragon, apparently unwilling to risk getting too close.

Jane heard Dragon tell Gunther that all shortlives should treat him with such awe and rolled her eyes in amusement as she walked towards the group, stopping in front of Vadoma's lowered chair.

"You are leaving us again, my dear?" The old woman asked.

"Yes, I am," replied Jane.

"We shall miss you," said Vadoma, and several of the people beside her nodded in agreement.

"Thank you for everything you have done for us," said Jane, as colour rose in her cheeks.

Vadoma waved her hand dismissively. "It was our pleasure to have you with us, my dear."

"I will see you all when you arrive at the castle," Jane reminded her and the group of people with her.

"Will you really be riding the dragon?" Asked a small girl, clutching her mother's skirt.

"Yes," said Jane, smiling at her.

"What about Gunther?" Rose took a step forward from the centre of the huddle. "Is he leaving too?"

"He is staying to escort you to our village," Jane told her, her smile painful. "Please, all of you, take care of him." She added, noting that although everyone nodded it was the girls in the group who agreed most enthusiastically.

"Your friend is growing restless," Vadoma pointed out, and Jane turned to see Dragon bouncing impatiently.

"I should go," said Jane, turning back to the Travellers. "Thank you all, and I will see you again soon!"

She turned and hurried back towards Dragon and Gunther, who held her bag and smiled when she approached.

"All done?" He asked.

Jane nodded, accepting her bag and placing the strap over her shoulder. She turned towards Dragon, preparing to climb atop his back, but hesitated.

"Jane?" Asked Dragon.

She spun back around to face Gunther, throwing her arms around him in a brief, awkward hug.

"Be good," she said before releasing him and climbing onto Dragon, studiously avoiding eye contact.

Her heart was racing, her emotions too scrambled to identify, but as Dragon launched into the air and her stomach dropped in a familiar and exhilarating way, Jane whooped with joy and the people below turned into ants.

All she had to think about for the next hour or two was the wind, the sky, and Dragon. For Jane, that was perfect.


	16. Ceremony and Celebration

Voices drifted across the plaza and bounced their way into the vaulted ceilings of the church. Jane could not make out distinct words but the sound was comforting in the otherwise silent space.

It was a new building, recently completed, with an impressive glass window that the Merchant had contributed towards.

"He is trying to buy salvation," Jester had suggested at the time. "But I very much doubt he could afford a clean soul."

It had been a scandalous thing, spoken quietly, and Jane had not been entirely able to disagree.

Nevertheless the window was beautiful, allowing moonlight to filter down over the alter, over her sword and shield, and over Jane herself.

She knelt, supposedly in prayer, although her thoughts were rather too nervous and distracted for such solemnity. Instead she focused on the noise outside, the revelry of the Travellers as they celebrated . . . although she knew not what. Was it the ceremony of the following day? Or perhaps that their time in Kippernium was drawing to a close and soon they would be facing the monotony of endless travel again. Maybe they were celebrating the profitable trades they had made over the past weeks.

They had traded extensively with Magnus, as Gunther had promised they would, but also with other townsfolk and even members of the castle.

Jane's mother had a new pair of rabbit skin gloves, her father a hand carved quill. The Prince and Princess had new toys to delight them, and Rake had several new seeds to add to his collection. Smithy had received into his care two milking goats and a long list of instructions from Kezia and Rose, while Pepper had a number of new recipes and ways to use the milk.

Gunther had added a new horse to the castle stables; an impressive black mare with a glossy coat and feathers.

Jane had first seen her when Gunther returned to the castle, riding ahead of the caravans with a small party of young men.

"She is a beauty, is she not?" He had called to Smithy as he rode her into the training yard.

"She is," the smith agreed. "She moves well."

Jane had been making her way from the kitchen garden to the yard, but stopped short and pressed herself against the wall when she saw them. Or rather, him.

It had only been two weeks since she had seen him, but after their journey together his absence had been trying to Jane. The end of a habit she had only realised she had formed after it was disrupted.

Now there he was, strong and whole, looking both larger and smaller than he had when last he stood in that yard. His air of easy confidence had only grown since she had first observed it from across the camp fire, and he spoke with Smithy as he would have with any friend. He was home, right there, mere paces away.

And Jane stood frozen, uncertain and transfixed.

His hair stuck up oddly, a little longer now but lacking any weight to hold it down. His clothes were dusty, and he clearly needed to bathe and shave. A silver circlet jangled on his wrist, a charm swung about his neck, moving away from his loose shirt as he dismounted.

He was Gunther, a boy she had known for a good deal of her life. But he was Gunther, a man with whom she was newly acquainted, who made her pulse quicken and her stomach roil for reasons she did not understand. And he was right there.

Jane's mouth was dry, and she licked her lips, preparing to speak when a voice in her ear made her jump and squeak instead.

"Is that __Gunther__?" Jester asked beside her. "What happened to his hair? And what __is__ he wearing?"

Jane's hand was on her chest, over her racing heart, and she licked her lips again when she realised that Jester was looking at her oddly.

"You startled me," she said defensively.

"Sorry," Jester gave her an apologetic smile before striding further into the yard.

"Welcome home weary traveller!" He called, and Gunther looked up and saw him, issued his own greeting in return, and then saw Jane.

She stepped out from the shadow of the wall as his eyes met hers and moved into the heat of the sun. She hoped fervently that would account for any sudden colour in her cheeks.

"Welcome home, Gunther," she said, her tone calm and strangely formal. The detached way she sounded made Jane want to cringe, but somehow she felt it was the best she could do just at that moment.

"Jane," he said, smiling warmly at her. "It is good to see you! How have you been?"

"Quite well, thank you," said Jane, noticing the way Gunther's smile faltered at her clipped tone, and feeling entirely unable to do anything about it. "I am sure Sir Theodore will want to hear of your return; I shall go and tell him at once." She turned towards the Knights' quarters, moving briskly and resisting the urge to slap her hand against her forehead.

What was __wrong__ with her?

* * *

There was some reprieve for Jane that day, between Gunther reporting to Sir Theodore and the King, leaving out perhaps one or two details but answering all of their questions, and then the arrival of the Travellers.

The excitement had increased ten-fold when Vadoma had seen Jester and called out "There he is, that precious boy!"

Then one of Sabina's sisters had run to embrace him, and the clamour of voices had become deafening. It was a family reunion to remember, and Jane had spied a tear in the corner of her own mother's eye at the scene.

"It is difficult to be parted from one's child," Adeline had said softly when she realised Jane was watching her.

"I missed you too, Mother," replied Jane, pressing a kiss to the Lady-in-Waiting's cheek.

After that there had been considerable celebrating, a feast in the courtyard, and countless distractions for Jane.

It was not until the middle of the next day, when she had been called into Sir Theodore's quarters, that she had come face-to-face with Gunther again.

He was standing in front of the Knight, his hands clasped behind his back, and the smile he gave Jane had a nervous air.

Jane was instantly on edge.

"Come in, Jane," said Sir Theodore, beckoning her in when he saw her linger in the doorway.

"Yes, Sir," she swallowed, and moved to stand beside Gunther. He was taller now, it seemed.

"You may recall that I had an agreement with Gunther regarding his Knighthood," Sir Theodore began, his tone stern.

"Yes, Sir," said Jane, again, licking her lips.

Why was she nervous? Why was Gunther looking at her like that? Why had he stopped wearing his silver trinkets?

"Now Gunther tells me he will not accept this honour," said Sir Theodore.

"What?" Gasped Jane. She turned to stare incredulously at Gunther.

" _ _Unless__ ," Sir Theodore continued, raising his hand for silence. "You receive it also."

" _ _What__?! Gunther, that is absurd-!"

"Everything I did to deserve it you did too, and more besides!" Gunther rejoined.

"Do not be such a stubborn Bog Weevil, this is __important__!" Jane insisted.

"I __know__ it is important, that is why-"

"Silence!" Roared Sir Theodore. He stared at the two squires as they quickly composed themselves.

"I never would have believed I would see the day . . . ." He paused, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "This is not a trifling matter." He continued sternly. "It is not for one of you to decide when the other is worthy."

He raised his hand again to arrest Gunther's protests.

"How _ _ever__ ," the old Knight continued. "I do believe, based on what each of you has told me and perhaps a few things you have not," he fixed Gunther with a firm stare for a moment. "That you have __both__ earned your knighthood, and so I will speak with the King."

Blood roared in Jane's ears as the realisation of what was to happen sunk in.

"Truly?" She heard a voice -her own voice, she realised- ask.

"Yes, Jane," Sir Theodore smiled.

She turned to Gunther, who was grinning madly back at her, and burst into giggles, as did he.

Sir Theodore watched them for a short moment, an indulgent smile on his face, before interrupting their revelry.

"You are both dismissed."

"Yes Sir," said the two squires in unison.

* * *

They had made their way to the battlements, although Jane did not remember how, precisely. She was in a state of disbelief. Sir Theodore was going to talk to the King. She would soon be a knight. Because of Gunther.

"Did you truly tell Sir Theodore you would not become a knight unless I was made one too?" She asked, breaking the silence between them.

"Well . . . Yes." He admitted slowly.

"Are you __mad__?"

"No more than usual," Gunther shrugged. "Although I did worry that I had given Sir Theodore a fit for a moment."

"Gunther, I am serious!" Jane put her hands on her hips. "What if he had refused?"

"It seemed unlikely." Gunther shrugged. "And even if he did there would be other chances."

"It was a stupid risk," Jane replied hotly, annoyed by his indifference. "And I do not need charity from you to earn my knighthood!"

"Charity?" Scoffed Gunther, finally getting annoyed. "Jane, I would not be here to __be__ knighted were it not for you! __Your__ actions spared __me__ , you made this possible, and you earned it."

"You could have discussed it with me," Jane pointed out, removing her hands from her hips to fold her arms across her chest.

"Discussed it with you? I have not been able to get you to talk with me since I returned!" Gunther pointed out. "So I decided that since you are clearly cross with me anyway I might as well go ahead."

"I am not cross with you!" Jane thought for a moment. "Well, __now__ I am, but I was not."

"Then why avoid me?" He asked miserably. "If I did some terrible thing to you that I do not remember you must tell me so that I can make amends." He implored.

The look on his face was a mixture of worry and guilt that had Jane softening her stance.

"It is nothing like that," she reassured him. "There is nothing you need to reproach yourself for. I promise." She added, when his concerned expression remained.

"Then what, Jane? I thought we had moved past this . . . __This__." Gunther gestured at the space between them. "Are we not friends?" He asked quietly.

"Of course we are!" Jane took a step towards him to prove the point. "I am just . . . confused."

"What by?" Gunther raised an eyebrow, the motion familiar yet foreign as he waited patiently for her answer.

"By __everything__ ," groaned Jane. "I watched you __die__ , Gunther. I lost you. But then you came back, and you had changed, but we were far away. Now we are both home and you are still __different__ , somehow, and I am . . . confused." Jane hid her face in her hands, fearing she was not making any sense.

"I . . . __think__ I understand," said Gunther after a long silence.

"Do you? __I__ do not." Jane mumbled from behind her hands.

She did not know what to expect from him then. How did one continue a conversation like that? But when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, Jane did not resist.

"I am sorry that I worried you. I will give you time to gather your thoughts, and when you are ready to talk I will be here." His voice rumbled through Jane as he spoke, his warmth and scent washing over her. All she could do was nod, her face still hidden by her hands.

When he eventually stepped back he took her hands in his and pulled them down, searching for her face.

"Now perhaps you should go and tell your parents that you are soon to be knighted," he said, forcing lightness into his voice. "And I shall go and find Sir Ivon, and then I must visit my father."

Jane nodded again, giving him a weak smile. She watched as he turned away and descended the wall. Despite the sun shining overhead she suddenly felt cold.

* * *

It had been business as usual from that point onwards, after the initial excitement of sharing the news with her family and friends.

Gunther would meet her in the training yard, or when they exchanged shifts at the gate or on patrol. He was pleasant, and polite, never gloating when he defeated her at archery, nor sulking when she bested him at staves, but he always maintained a slight distance. He never stood too close, did not try to draw her into conversation or occupy her time outside of their duties. He simply bid her good day, smiled at her, and walked away.

It was their old routine, albeit it without any of the old animosity, and it was wrong.

Not that Jane did not appreciate Gunther's efforts. He was doing as he had promised, giving her time to adjust to the ways he had changed. It was thoughtful, and kind, and not at all what she wanted. Although what she __did__ want remained a mystery to Jane, so she smiled back, wished him a good day in return, and did not engage him in conversation. What was there to talk about when she did not know what she wanted to say?

The date of their adoubement was set and a great deal of preparation was required. The King had decided that a feast to celebrate would be fitting, then Princess Lavinia had suggested a ball, and after that the celebrations had quickly outgrown the occasion.

* * *

Jane knelt on the stone steps, her knees growing painful despite the cushion the princess had gifted her with.

It was a large altar, carved from a giant stone, but Jane could only see half of it. Great sheets of white cloth had been strung up in the chapel, dividing it neatly in half and draping up and over the centre of the altar.

Gunther occupied the other side, praying at his half of the altar.

It was an unorthodox approach, but two squires needed to stand their vigil and so arrangements had been made.

Sir Ivon stood watch outside, but as midnight grew near Sir Theodore would take up the post.

Jane glanced at the fabric beside her, and wondered if Gunther knelt as near to it as she did. He would be close enough for her to reach out and touch if he was.

Her heart beat a little faster at the thought, and Jane mentally scolded herself. That was not what she should be thinking of now, at this time and in this place.

She stood, rubbing her knees and stretching, hoping that a few moments of movement would allow her to focus again.

She stood facing the temporary curtain, shaking out her limbs and trying to think solemn thoughts, when the full moon slipped out from behind the clouds. Its cool light shone through the window above and bounced off carved stone walls, throwing shadows upon the fabric.

Jane's breath hitched as Gunther's silhouette appeared before her. He stood facing the altar, his face upturned to the window, profile cast clearly against the cloth.

 _ _He is beautiful__ , Jane thought, the concept finally forcing its way into her concious mind and eliciting a small gasp.

The noise bounced almost imperceptibly around the stone and Jane prayed in earnest for the first time that night that he had not heard it.

She was not ready to face him with this knowledge, with the realisation that irritation had long ago become something else entirely.

In almost losing him she had finally found an understanding, a resolution of feelings that had troubled her from adolescence.

She knew at last that Gunther Breech was not to be loathed, or pitied, or competed with. Nor to be avoided, pushed away or ignored. Gunther Breech was a man to be trusted, to be admired, to be united with. __He was to be loved.__

Jane could not silence her gasp at this second revelation, but as Gunther turned towards her she found herself reaching out, fingers pushing against the join between two sheets.

The moon, having shared all it wished, concealed itself once more behind its veil of clouds, but Jane did not need its help to feel Gunther's fingers brush against her own.

She hesitated, as his hand enveloped hers, the embrace hidden by folds of fabric. She could give a squeeze and withdraw, the gesture easily interpreted as one of solidarity between companions enduring this night separately together.

She could pretend that nothing had changed; that her feelings remained as they had when she was twelve.

But Jane could not bring herself to free her hand, could not bear the thought of pulling away from him again.

Instead she raised her other hand and drew the cloth to one side, revealing herself to him in the dim light.

Gunther took a step towards her, her hand still in his, and studied her, saying nothing.

He wore white, as did she, to symbolise their pure hearts, and he ran his free hand through his short hair. It was something he did when he was nervous, Jane had learned.

She had learned a lot about Gunther Breech of late.

"I, uh . . . ." Jane whispered, unsure what she was even going to say.

She chewed her lower lip as she searched for words, Gunther watching her with an unreadable expression.

"Um, I got you a gift!" Jane blurted out suddenly, remembering. She withdrew her hand from his, trying not to read into the way his eyebrows creased at the loss of contact, and reached under her tunic.

"Smithy made it for me," she continued in a whispered rush as she pulled the necklace over her head. "I was going to give it to you tomorrow, but . . . ."

She held it out, a stray moonbeam gleaming over the silver arrowhead as it hung from a braided leather cord, its blunted edges making it safe to wear.

"I thought you might like to have it to . . . to keep you safe, and to remind you that . . . ." Jane licked her lips. "You are a good man, Gunther Breech."

"Jane," said Gunther, his voice deeper than she had ever heard it.

Jane continued, somewhat emboldened. "It is a __token__ ," she whispered, almost teasing. "Of my . . . ."

She faltered. Of her what? Appreciation? Affection? What if he did not want that?

Jane looked at him, and realised that he had it all the same.

"Of my affection." She finished, heat flooding to her cheeks as she stood on tiptoe to lower the necklace over his head.

Gunther raised a hand to clasp the arrowhead, holding it tightly as he looked at her.

"I . . . Thank you, Jane," he said at last, before tucking it inside his collar. "Smithy has been busy." He continued, clearing his throat softly. "I also got you a gift."

He gathered the hem of his tunic up and drew a sheathed knife from his belt, handing it to Jane.

The sheath was made of tooled leather in a dragonscale pattern. Jane ran her fingers across the surface.

"It is beautiful," she whispered.

Gunther ran his hand through his hair again. "Harman taught me," he admitted. "It is a little rough."

"You __made__ this?" Jane looked at him, wide-eyed.

"Only the sheath, and with a lot of help," Gunther insisted. "All I really contributed is the mistakes. The knife is the real gift." He assured her.

Jane drew it out slowly, her mouth forming a silent O as moonlight gleamed over silver once more.

A carved timber hilt wrapped in leather housed a beautifully engraved silver blade, displaying the castle heraldry of a dragon flying over the mountain.

"It is to keep you safe from any monster you meet," Gunther was saying nervously. "And to remind you of home no matter how far you may travel."

"It is __beautiful__ , Gunther," Jane breathed. "But all this silver, how . . . ?"

Gunther smiled. "Charms and trinkets, earrings and bangles," he said. "Actually, it is one of a pair."

He lifted the other side of his tunic to reveal a plain leather sheath on his belt, housing a second knife.

Jane sheathed the blade and ran her fingers over the leather again.

"One of a pair," she said softly.

Gunther took it from her hands, slowly lifting the hem of her tunic until he found her belt, and attached the sheath to it.

His fingers were warm when they brushed against her skin beneath the bunched fabric, but Jane shivered.

"Sorry," Gunther whispered as he straightened, allowing her clothing to drop back into place.

Jane shook her head.

"It is quite all right," she mumbled. "Actually, I did not mind . . . ."

She glanced up at him then, fervently hoping her face was not as red as it felt, and found him staring at her. He raised his hand slowly to her cheek, calloused fingers brushing against her skin, and Jane closed her eyes, heart pounding in her chest.

"I want to kiss you, Jane," he said eventually, his thumb moving across her cheekbone. "I have wanted to kiss you a thousand times since you came and found me in the woods and helped me find my way out."

Jane opened her eyes and looked at him, and realised that he was as nervous and vulnerable as she was.

He was Gunther.

She smiled.

"Are you just going to stand there and talk about it, Beef Brain?" She whispered.

Gunther smirked, that damnable expression that Jane was beginning to realise was one of the many things she loved about him, and kissed her.


	17. Epilogue

**Ten years later.**

Moonlight flooded through the open door, spilling across the timber floor. Leif Taylor, a small, thin man hitherto of little consequence, cowered in the corner. He clutched at his head and muttered to himself as the moonlight crept closer.

"No, please," he pleaded desperately. "No, no, I cannot, __please__."

He began to sob as a shaft of light danced before him, his shaking hand reaching towards it when a shadow filled the doorway, cutting off the light, and he snatched his hand back as though burnt.

" _ _There__ you are," said a shadowy figure, almost in a snarl. "You really have lowered your standards."

He stepped into the room then; a broad shouldered man with long black hair and determined grey eyes. He wore a great fur cloak and his shadow kept Leif safely shielded from the moonlight as he knelt down before him, seeming to study the smaller man's face.

"You poor bastard," he said eventually.

"H-help me, pluh-please," Leif pleaded, staring at the stranger. His cloak was made from a single pelt, some giant black-haired beast Leif could not name, and around his neck swung a silver arrowhead.

The monster inside his head was unsettled, Leif realised. It suddenly felt a dread of its own.

"Help me," he gasped again, the faintest feeling of hope stirring inside him. "Spare my neighbours, please."

The stranger crouched in front of him smiled, flicking his cloak aside to reveal a knife at his belt. He drew it out, the blade gleaming silver.

"Help yourself," he said.

* * *

Leif awoke the next morning, which was the first miracle of the day.

He was bloodied, crusted in the stuff in fact, and naked. His tiny one-roomed home was a mess, the furniture upturned and deep gouges in the walls. Worse still was the giant body lying in the middle of his floor, hideous and hairy, painful to look at.

Leif dry-reached before staggering to his feet, searching for his only other pair of trousers and pulling them on as the sound of voices drifted in from outside.

His neighbours. Oh, God have mercy, what would they think? He stumbled to his door and leaned against the frame, the bright early morning sun making him squint.

"Taylor!" Called one of the men, while several women screamed. "You are alive?"

Leif recognised the man as the village blacksmith, and allowed him to support his weight and walk him further from his hut.

Other villagers crowded behind him to look inside, and more gasps and screams of horror soon followed.

Leif closed his eyes, waiting for their anger, their revulsion.

"He saved us all!" Yelled the baker.

"A true hero!" Cried a farmer's wife.

Leif opened his eyes, gaping as his neighbours crowded around him, clapping their hands on his still-sticky back and herding him towards the village inn.

"Time to get you cleaned up and fed, eh, hero?"

"You must have quite the tale for us!"

"We will get your house sorted in no time, never you mind!"

Lief glanced over his shoulder as the wave of voices washed over him, looking back down the road leading away from the village.

Whoever he was, the stranger was long gone now.

* * *

Dusk darkened the sky and the cold air of the night crept closer. There was only a single rider still to be seen in the dimming light and he drew his black fur cloak closer about him. Dark woods crowded with shadows sat to his left and open fields undulated to his right as he travelled the road that ran between them.

He sat atop a sturdy black horse, her mane stirring in the breeze.

Eventually a third figure emerged from the woods, slinking along the road beside them.

"Took you long enough," said the man.

The giant grey wolf growled low in response, her ears flicking in annoyance.

"It is done," the man told her, as though she could understand his words.

The wolf growled back as though the man could understand her.

"They are getting desperate," he said agreeably. "They choose their victims without discretion."

The wolf rumbled again before falling silent.

"Mmm," said the man.

The horse walked on, unperturbed.

The moon rose higher in the sky, gleaming against the arrowhead the man wore around his neck.

A howl began deep in the woods, growing in volume as more wolves joined in, bouncing off trees and stones until the night air carried it to the man and his companions. He and the giant wolf listened closely as his horse whickered.

"All is well," said the rider eventually, leaning forward to pat the mare's neck. "There will be no hunting for us tonight."

Moonlight flickered as a great shadow passed overhead.

The hunter looked up and smiled.

"Champion," he whispered.

The wolf grumbled beside him.

"Best behaviour from you," he told her sternly, before urging his horse to a faster pace.

They cantered down the road to a grassy field where a great green dragon landed before them.

The hunter leapt from his horse as a figure slid from the dragon's back and they met amidst the waving, waist high grass.

"You have returned," said the hunter against the dragon rider's hair as he embraced her.

"I said I would," she replied, her hands fisted against his cloak. "You know I loathe it when you wear this." She said reproachfully, not releasing her grasp.

"You know I love it when you take it off me," the hunter growled low, before kissing her.

"Oh, blech, __eww__!" Exclaimed the dragon, as the wolf whined in disgust from the road.

"Hello, Dragon," said the hunter with a smirk.

"Hello, Shadow Across the Moon," the dragon rider addressed the giant canine.

"Now you are both going to want to scram," added the hunter as he swept the rider off her feet. "My partner and I have some __taking__ to do."

The dragon rose into the sky, muttering in disgust as his rider's laughter rang out below.

The wolf returned to the woods, leaving the mare to stand guard at the road while their charge and his mate lay hidden in the nodding grass.

* * *

"I wrote you a note," said the hunter some time later, as they lay on his cloak in the grass. He drew a small, scratched piece of bark from one of the many pockets.

"I love your notes," said the dragon rider with a lazy smile, running her fingers over the gouges. "What does this one say?"

"It is a love letter," he said softly. "They have always been love letters, Jane."

Fin.


End file.
